The Devil Wears Westwood
by VanityFlair
Summary: The alternate story line to "More Effective Than A Nicotine Patch" where Diana accepts Moriarty's offer.Rated M because...well, you know Moriarty...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: For those of you just joining us, stop reading! Go to "More Effective Than A Nicotine Patch" and read until the end of Chapter 14 and come back. This is an alternate story line starting from Chapter 15, so you'll be lost.**

**For returning readers, welcome! Yay! Please let me know what you think!**

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"Diana, we've got another case," Sherlock said as he banged on my door.

"I can't go," I told him as I opened it.

Both he and John looked at me slightly stunned. Not for telling them I wasn't going to the case, however, but because I was rather dressed up. Black pencil shirt with a royal purple top and a fitted black blazer and my hair put into victory rolls, I had to admit I looked fabulous.

"Wow, Diana, you look great," John told me. "But, what's the occasion?"

"My store, guys." I reminded them. "The official date was moved to today so we could smooth the model murder thing over in the press first. Ringing any bells?"

"So, you're not coming?" Sherlock asked.

"Nope," I told them, grabbing my purse and walking out of the flat.

"Have fun, then," John called me as I got into a cab.

"You too!" I replied, waving at them.

The opening of the store was pretty standard. I was to cut the purple ribbon, yes purple because red would clash with my hair, and greet people as they came in. What wasn't standard was how many women, young girls and a decent number of men were standing out there. The press from my adventures with Sherlock really was paying off. I was thankful after ten minutes that Heather, my PR chair, came over and told me I could stop shaking peoples' hands and come inside. I gratefully took the hand sanitizer she offered, rubbing it in as I walked around the store.

The conversations I had were widely varied. Some people gushed about meeting me and how they were happy to have a store they could go to instead of buying online. Others wanted to talk about Sherlock and what it was like knowing him. But of all the conversations I had, I don't think anything could have prepared me for the one I was to have next.

"You never thanked me, you know." Came a voice from behind me.

I jumped slightly as I turned around. "Jesus, Jim. Do you have to do that every time?"

Standing right behind me was Moriarty, once again dressed in a sharp-looking suit.

"What are you doing here? Stalking me?" I asked.

"I just wanted to see what your fuss was about." He told me, looking around. "I have to say, I'm impressed."

I looked at him, studying his face, desperately searching for an ulterior motive.

"Impressed?"

"What," he held up his hands in mock surrender. "Can't a guy say something nice without there being a catch?"

"You? Nope," I replied, popping the 'p'.

"Clever girl." he grinned.

"So there is a catch?"

"There is."

"But you said we're even."

"We are."

"So then what's the catch?"

"Well, it's not so much of a catch as a proposal."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I was just thinking, a girl like you could have so much more fun on my side."

"I – " The following sounds I made were a verbal keyboard smash. There were literally no words to encompass the shock I was feeling. "Your side?"

"What do you say?"

The truth was, I didn't know what to say. I just stared at him, gaping unattractively like a fish.

"I don't know," I admitted. "Why?"

He shrugged, "Why not?"

"That's not an answer."

He groaned, unwilling to answer the question.

"Jim," I pressed. "We promised not to lie to each other. Why do you want me to be on your side?"

His face scrunched up as if he were trying to stop the words from coming out, and when they did they were lightning fast, "You know a lot about Sherlock and I want to know all of it so I can plan his demise."

I blinked, trying to decipher what he had told me. When it finally sunk in, my eyebrows furrowed.

"You want me to tell you what I know about Sherlock?"

He nodded.

"For his demise?"

He nodded again.

"Couldn't you very well plan that without me? I mean, you managed the pool scenario just fine without my help."

"That's true," he said, stepping closer slightly. "But every king needs a queen."

I was stuck, lost for words. I searched Moriarty's entire face, trying to find an ulterior motive or any hint of deception, growing slightly worried when I didn't find any.

"I have no idea how to respond to that," I told him after I finally found my voice again.

He smiled, the expression almost reaching his eyes. "Think on it for a while and get back to me."

He walked off, leaving me at the mercy of my customers.

It was a remarkably good first day where sales were concerned. I sent the employees home after we closed. It was a tradition of mine to close the registers out and take note of the sales for the first day. Seeing the total sale amount on the screen at the end of the first day was always like a little victory for me. I set my phone on the counter and turned on the music player, and Greek folk music began pouring out of the tiny speakers as I began to close out the first register.

"I didn't know you were Greek," a male voice came from the back of the store.

I jumped for the second time that night, whipping my head to see a smirking Moriarty walking towards me.

"I'm not Greek," I told him. "But that doesn't mean I can't like their music."

I turned off the music as he sauntered over, not taking my eyes off the screen in front of me.

"So, what's your answer?" He asked.

I snorted. "Think on it a while does not mean," I checked the time, "Two and a half hours. Especially when those two and a half hours are being spent trying to sell people stuff."

He merely smirked in response. "You have time to think now."

I rolled my eyes, groaning as I faced him. "What's in it for me?"

"Oh, now we're getting somewhere," he grinned widely.

"Jim, didn't we agree not to play games with each other?"

"We agreed not to lie to each other."

"No, no I think you'll find that playing silly little games was a part of that too." I countered.

Jim sighed, "Okay, fine."

"So I ask again, what's in it for me?"

"You get to be a part of my grand scheme."

"And help a criminal plague the world with evil…hmmm, nope. Next."

He was taken slightly aback, "I can buy you whatever you want."

"Oh, so now you're trying to bribe me? Not going to happen."

He paused, feeling around for the right words.

"I can treat you better than Sherlock ever has."

That made me stop, my hands frozen and I lost count of the bills in my hand. And, I have to admit, the comment stung. A lot. Because, even if he didn't know how much, Jim was right. Besides the kiss after the incident at the pool, Sherlock hadn't really been paying much attention to me. Yeah, he probably liked me, but even if I saw that my ego was still bruised that he hadn't done anything about it. I pursed my lips, beginning to count the money for the deposit again.

"And how does Sherlock treat me?" I asked, attempting nonchalance.

"He ignores you."

"Oh? And you wouldn't?"

"I would give you everything you deserved."

I didn't answer, putting the money into the deposit bag for the bank. I could feel him shift his weight in front of me as I sealed the envelope, trying to stall the question I was going to ask, but was afraid to get an answer.

"What do I deserve?"

He smiled slightly, and, dare I say it, sadly. "You deserve the entire world at your feet. Every star and planet at your disposal."

"And you'd give it to me?"

He hummed a soft chuckle. "I'm not that powerful, but I'll give you everything you ask for."

He turned and started to walk out of the store.

"Jim," I called as he reached the door. "I didn't say you could leave."

He turned around, a slight look of surprise on his face. I beckoned him back with a finger, wearing an expression a mother might use on a naughty child. Moriarty walked back, the air of surprise still stuck on his face.

"You switched tenses." I stated. "You went from future to present, indicating you thought I had agreed to your proposition."

"Sorry?"

"I never said yes."

"Why wouldn't you?"

It seemed a simple enough question. Here was a man who was promising me the world and more, but he was also a man of catches. I thought back to when I first saw him, regardless of the fact that at the time I believed he was a mere bomber, it was hard to believe that he was the famous Jim Moriarty, the most dangerous man in London. Even at the pool, all I saw was a small, thin man elegantly dressed staring at the three of us. He looked harmless. He looked like fucking Bambi in a Westwood suit.

It was when I gave him a second gaze that I realized what a mistake it would be to underestimate him. His eyes were cold, able to freeze Hell itself with a single glare. Hollow and dark, endless pits of nothingness threatening to drag you into the void. But the eyes I was looking into now were different. They were still black as sin, but there was a different light to them now. I could read every movement in his face, every flicker of emotion through his eyes, and it terrified me. Here was a man that never made contact with anyone during business deals, always kept himself distant, and yet he was coming to me completely unbridled.

The moment I met him, the moment he became interested in me, I lost the possibility to choose. Sure, I could've walked away. I could have chucked him out of the store right then. But it wouldn't have made much difference. He would just keep coming back.

The moment he spoke to me and practically saved my store, I was irrevocably his. There wasn't any denying that. But there was no way I was going to let him win easily.

"I'm not a pawn, Jim." I told him bluntly. "You said it yourself, I'm the queen. I have full control of this board and I'm not expendable. You might be under the impression that once you've gotten what you want from me you can make me disappear, but I'm going to let you know that won't be as easy as you think."

I walked around the counter, stepping in front of the criminal mastermind rooted to his spot.

"I've gotten under your skin, haven't I? Why else would you be coming to me for information about Sherlock? You could've gotten that anywhere and yet you came to me. Why?"

Jim didn't answer, instead leaned forward to give me a kiss. I stopped him with a hand to the face, my fingers splayed across the skin like a starfish.

"Oh my dear Jim, you think you can win me over with a kiss?" I asked, a sly smile on my face as my hand moved to cup his cheek. "I thought I was worth the stars and the planets. Don't you think you should try a little better than that?"

I was playing with fire and I knew it. Teasing Jim like this could end very, very badly. But the look on his face told me that I was doing something right. He smiled, turning his head slightly into my hand.

"Come home with me." He said.

I gave a deep laugh, "What makes you think I'd go home with you when I'm not even going to let you kiss me?"

"I can be very convincing."

"I'm sure you can. But you see, Mr. Moriarty, I may be little more than morally dubious, but I'm not easy."

I took my hand from his face and grabbed the deposit bag from off the counter. I walked over to Moriarty, linking my arm with his as I guided him towards the door.

"My dear Jim, I think you need to learn how to romance a girl properly, and I'm going to teach you."

"Is that so?"

"Just so."

I locked the door behind me, turning around to notice that not only had Jim hailed me a cab, but he was also holding the door open for me.

"How's this?" He asked with a sly smile.

"It's a start," I returned the grin. I walked over, standing next to the door. "Now here's the part where you tell me you're going to call or text me to set up a date."

"How 'bout I tell you right now. I want to see you tomorrow."

"Lunch?"

"Deal."

We shared a grin as I sat down in the cab. Jim closed the door and patted it twice, signaling the cab driver to go. I waved lightly at him as the car pulled away.

/

Moriarty watched her get into the cab and drive off. He raked his teeth across his bottom lip, remembering the feel of her hand against his cheek and the faint remnants of her perfume that lingered on her wrist. Some kind of cinnamon and orange combination. He wanted to nuzzle into that bit of skin to soak up the smell.

He shook his head, clearing it of the thought.

That was strange. It was a feeling he had never experienced before. He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to figure out exactly why he had felt like that.

It must've been a fluke.

But, then again, Diana had been right about one thing. She had gotten under his skin. She was witty and clever, and although he would never dare to admit it out loud she was gorgeous.

He looked at the spot where the cab had been, pursing his lips in thought.

He had to stay above petty thoughts. This was a game of strategy, and he couldn't afford to let feelings get in his way.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Yay! I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this! Please keep reviewing.**

**unicornmagik: Haha, wow I'm flattered that you screamed (hopefully in excitement)! And that you find my Moriarty so yummy, haha. Andrew Scott gives me a LOT of material to work with.  
**

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Moriarty smiled as he woke up, stretching his limbs to their limits and crawling out of bed. He grabbed his phone and typed in a text as he walked towards the shower.

**Good morning, Ms. Remus. – JM**

/

I had just gotten out of my shower when my phone buzzed. I raked my leave-in conditioner through my hair, taking every precaution to keep my hair under control today, and grabbed my phone to look at the text, smiling slightly when I saw the words. Tapping the keys, I wrote my response.

**Good morning, Mr. Moriarty. Are you going to tell me where we're going today? – DR**

/

Jim heard his text alert go off as he scrubbed shampoo into his hair. He reached over, trying to get as little shampoo on his phone as possible, and grinned as he read the reply.

**Nope. It's a surprise. – JM**

/

I was standing at my closet, trying to figure out what to wear as soon as Jim told me where we were going. I frowned slightly when I saw the text he sent.

**Well how am I supposed to be pretty if I don't know what to wear. – DR**

**You'd be pretty even if you were wearing absolutely nothing. – JM**

**Which I might prefer. – JM**

**Naughty. – DR**

**You like it. – JM**

**At the appropriate time. Now, tell me, how pretty should I get? – DR**

**Something similar to last night. I'll have a car pick you up in 45. – JM**

I looked back at the contents of my closet, staring in despair at the contents.

I was nervous, and I hated myself for it. I had been on dates before. I'll admit it, college was a pretty adventurous time for me and I had my fair share of male companions. A couple females too. But I hadn't been on a real date since the miscarriage. No actual connection there, although maybe subconsciously there was. I didn't know.

I ruffled my damp hair. I was more nervous about going with Jim. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something I wasn't seeing. Jim and I had promised not to lie to each other, but it wasn't a lie if he just didn't tell me anything.

I blew out a deep breath, grabbing a vintage purple dress with a black sash and heading back to the bathroom. I had 45 minutes to work whatever magic I could to fix whatever mess my bed had done.

I was spraying perfume on my pulse points when my phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Your car is waiting, ma'am," an unfamiliar male voice came from the other end.

"Um, thank you."

I hung up, grabbing my coat and purse on my way out of my flat. I saw the sleek black car and the tall suited man holding the door open for me.

"I'm guessing you work for – "

"Yes," he cut me off.

"Okay," I said, getting in the car.

The driver took off, not saying a word to me.

"So, are _you_ going to tell me where I'm going?" I asked.

"No, ma'am." He responded.

I slumped slightly in the seat, slightly put out that I was still being kept in the dark.

"The boss will be pleased, though," he said after a few minutes of silence.

"Oh? Why's that?"

"You look very nice, miss."

I smiled slightly, "Thank you."

My text alert came on, but instead of being from Jim like I had expected, the screen told me it was from Sherlock.

**Where are you? – SH**

**On a date, why? – DR**

**A date? - SH**

**Yes, a date. It's when two people who like each other go out and have fun and enjoy each other's company. – DR**

**I know what a date is. – SH**

**Why are you on one? – SH**

**Because I was asked. – DR**

"Ma'am, we're here," the driver told me as we slowed to a stop.

I refused to look out the window. The nerves were setting in again. Damn my hands, they were shaking.

_Fuck, what was I getting myself into?_

I stepped out of the car as the driver opened the door. My eyes widening as I saw the name of the restaurant in front of me.

Locanda Locatelli.

I had never been there, but I had heard it was one of the best Italian restaurants in London. And also crazy expensive. And it also looked completely empty. What was going on?

I walked in, greeted by the sight of Moriarty standing by a table, completed by a lit candle in the center.

"I've rented the entire restaurant for our lunch date," he grinned.

I was shocked, staring with an open mouthed smile of surprise.

"Oh my dear Moriarty, if you're trying to impress me, you're doing a good job."

He smiled, walking over and placing a small kiss on my cheek.

"You look nice," he murmured, pulling a chair out for me to sit.

I could not wrap my head around this situation. Moriarty was acting, dare I say it, normal. Romantic. Dear Jesus there's got to be a catch somewhere.

"So, you rent out an entire restaurant, have to food already ordered and prepared," I took a bite of the pasta, turning to the waiter, "which is amazing by the way." He smiled and I turned back to Jim. "But I know you, there's a catch. There is always a catch."

He leaned forward.

"Why do you think there's a catch?"

"Because it's you."

"I thought you said you wanted to be romanced."

"Why don't you just give me a straight answer?"

"You were right yesterday."

"About?"

"I can find the information I want elsewhere."

"So then why are you romancing me?"

He smirked softly, "It's something new, and I'm bored."

I scoffed, "Oh, so I'm just a time filler now, is that it?"

"Oh Diana, you should know by now you are so much more than that."

I mimicked his motion, leaning forwards. "And why is that?"

His lips twitched in the smirk, causing it to grow momentarily.

"Because you can see me. I can't hide from you and that intrigues me."

"Well, if you were able to hide better, then maybe I wouldn't be able to see you."

"What if I don't want to hide from you?"

"I guess we'll find out."

He chuckled softly, motioning to someone on the restaurant staff. Music began to play, 50s music at that. It was a slow song and just so happened to be perfectly fitting of the situation.

Bad Boy by the Jive Bombers. Oh the ridiculous irony.

Jim stood up and offered me a hand. Grinning slightly, I took it and was pulled into his light embrace. I chuckled slightly as we began to sway to the music.

"So it's dinner and a dance." I began. "What next, are you going to sweep me off to Italy?"

"Do you like Italy?"

"Why, are you going to take me?"

"Maybe," he replied, the small grin still stuck in place.

We swayed in silence, the staff having cleared out to give us some privacy. I leaned in slightly, smelling the musk of his aftershave, as a small voice nagged in the back of my mind.

"Why do I still feel like there's some kind of catch?"

"My dear Diana, you've got to learn how to trust me."

"Why?"

"Because I could be so very good to you."

"While you're being so very bad to the rest of the world?"

He shrugged slightly, "What can I say? I'm a complex man."

/

It took all of Moriarty's self-control not to take her right there on the table. No, he had to take things slow with her. Although, he didn't really know why he was bothering. He didn't actually need her anymore. He had put out people to find out the information he wanted and could get it at the snap of his fingers. And yet, her company filled a hole he wasn't aware of. She wasn't ordinary, or boring. She wasn't a genius, but she could see more than he had given her credit for. She was strange in the fact that she caused feelings to stir the he didn't even know existed.

As much as Sherlock was an obsession of his, she was slowly working her way to becoming one as well. A different kind. One that Moriarty didn't know if he wanted to have. He would keep her around, that's for sure. Wine and dine her, romance her like she wanted. He would just have to keep himself at arm's length from everything else.

He burrowed his nose slightly into her hair, breathing in the combination of her shampoo and perfume. This was so very dangerous on multiple levels. She was quickly going to become a liability if he wasn't careful. The heart that someone could burn out of him.

But for right now, he pushed those thoughts out of his head. For now he would focus on the girl in his arms. He'd figure everything else out later.

/

The song ended, and I was surprised to be a little disappointed. Jim smiled slightly, an expression becoming common on his features. He stepped back, disentangling himself from me slightly.

"Should I be getting you back home?" He asked.

"Why, are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Not in the slightest." He replied, grinning. "But I wouldn't want the boys having too much to question you about."

I grimaced slightly, "You're probably right. Wouldn't be good if they found out I had gone on a date with their arch enemy."

"No, though I do have to admit I'd love to see the looks on their faces." He chuckled.

I rolled my eyes, "You're awful."

"You love it."

"Do I?" I asked, an eyebrow arched.

"I'd hope so."

We stood there, just looking at each other in silence until he finally broke the gaze. He cleared his throat and gestured to the door. I had to stifle a smile as I grabbed my coat and purse, walking out of the restaurant to the car that was waiting to take me back to Baker Street. He opened the door for me, but held out and arm to keep me outside.

"I want to see you again." He said softly.

"Well, I'm just a phone call away."

The corners of his mouth flicked upwards in a fleeting smile, his eyes darting down to my lips. My breath caught in my throat, knowing what was about to happen. He leaned in, his lips pressing against mine, and I was lost. Our lips moved with each other, and I couldn't help but notice how much better he was at this than Sherlock. His arm slipped around my waist, pulling me closer as my hands began to grip his coat, desperate to hold on to something.

But then the voice of reason snapped at me from the back of my mind and I pulled away, breathing out a laugh.

"I almost broke one of my own rules," I said, slightly out of breath.

"What rule was that?"

"Not to give too much on the first date," I managed a sly smile.

I slipped under the arm preventing me from entering the car and slid into the seat. He gave a small laugh of amazement, grinning down at me.

"You're dangerous, you know that?" He told me leaning down to eye level.

"I thought you liked danger, Mr. Moriarty."

"I do. More than you realize."

He leaned in to place another swift kiss on my lips before shutting the door. I didn't even bother hiding the smile on my face.

Just before I got home, my phone told me I had a text.

**Let me know how Sherlock liked my gift. – JM**

I frowned. Gift? I didn't really like the sound of that.

When I got home, I bounded up the stairs to Sherlock and John's flat just in time to see John carry a mumbling Sherlock into his bedroom.

"Jesus, what happened?" I called after them.

"Sherlock got drugged by a dominatrix." John told me, his voice wavering due to his struggle with Sherlock's weight.

"Whoa, what?"

"She has pictures of someone important to the royal family, which you would know if you were here today."

"Uh, wow, okay. I was on a date. Is he going to be okay?"

"She said it was going to wear off in a while," John groaned as he laid Sherlock down on his bed.

"Oh," I replied, not really knowing how to answer.

"So, a date?" John asked as he closed the door behind him.

"Yes, a date," I responded.

"With whom?"

I crossed my arms, "Why? Does it matter?"

"Well, I just thought…you and Sherlock…"

"John, Sherlock hasn't paid me any more attention to me than he has to you since the kiss. It was a fluke. Do you really think he's capable of romance? Because, from my end, I'm not so sure. So yes, I went on a date with someone; someone who may be just as confusing as Sherlock but he doesn't hold things back and he's strangely charming."

"You must really like him."

"I don't know yet."

John and I sat in the living room, waiting to see if Sherlock would wake up.

**Your gift to Sherlock drugged him and knocked him out. According to plan? – DR**

**Ha, she's a live wire. It's a long winded plan. She knows what she's doing. – JM**

**And what exactly is she doing? – DR**

**Jealous, little Diana? – JM**

**Curious. As to why you'd send a dominatrix with pictures of a person important to the royal family as a gift to Sherlock. – DR**

**Unless she has more than just pictures. – DR**

**I love how clever you are. - JM**

"John?" We heard Sherlock call from the other room. "John! Dialna!"

My head whipped towards the sound. His tongue must not be fully functional, because there definitely wasn't an 'l' in my name. We went into Sherlock's room to see what was wrong.

"You okay?" John asked as we opened the door, seeing Sherlock on the floor.

"How did I get here?" He asked.

"I don't suppose you remember much, you weren't making a lot of sense. Oh, I should warn you, I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone." John told him.

"Where is she?" Sherlock asked.

"Where's who?" I countered as Sherlock began to clumsily walk around his room.

"The woman, that woman."

"What woman?" John questioned again.

"The Woman! The Woman, woman!"

"Oh, Irene Adler? She got away, no-one saw her." He told Sherlock. "She wasn't here, Sherlock."

Sherlock tripped and fell to the floor, beginning to crawl to his bed.

"What are you? What? No, no, no. No. Back to bed." John said as we picked up Sherlock and set him down on his bed again.

"You'll be fine in the morning." I said as I pulled the covers over him. "Just sleep."

"Of course I'll be fine, I am fine. I'm absolutely fine." Sherlock protested.

"Yes, you're great." John agreed mockingly. "Now, we'll be next door if you need us."

"Why would I need you?"

"No reason at all." John said as he closed the door behind us.

"Irene Adler? I'm assuming that's the dominatrix." I asked John.

"That's her." John replied.

_Hmm, I wonder what else she's got that Moriarty would send her to Sherlock._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Please keep reviewing. Don't worry, my Sherlock series will restart soon! (ish)**

* * *

"The photographs are perfectly safe." Sherlock informed his brother at breakfast the next morning.

"In the hands of a fugitive sex worker?" Mycroft asked.

"She's not interested in blackmail. She wants...protection, for some reason. I take it you've stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?"

"How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied."

"She'd applaud your choice of words." Sherlock grinned. "You see how this works? The camera-phone is her get out of jail free card. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royalty, Mycroft."

Just then, a muffled female moan was heard.

"What was that?" John asked.

"Text." Sherlock replied shortly, getting up to get his phone.

"But what was that noise?" I elaborated the question.

"Did you know there were other people after her too, Mycroft? Before you sent John, Diana and I in there." Sherlock asked his brother, avoiding the answer as he grabbed his phone and sat back down. "CIA trained killers, nonetheless."

"Yeah, thanks for that, Mycroft." John finished sarcastically.

"It's a disgrace, sending your little brother into danger like that." Mrs. Hudson said as she set a plate in front of Sherlock. "Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes!"

"Oh, shut up, Mrs. Hudson!" He spat viciously.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock, John and I shouted in almost unison.

He was taken aback, not having expected the three of us to have such a reaction. He smiled, coldly and unwillingly.

"Apologies." He replied reluctantly.

"Thank you." She replied, walking off.

"Though do in fact shut up." Sherlock muttered after her.

The moan was heard again.

"Oh, it's a bit rude, that noise, isn't it?" Mrs. Hudson blushed.

"There's nothing you can do and nothing she will do, as far as I can see." Sherlock told his brother, ignoring her.

"I can put maximum surveillance on her." Mycroft countered.

"Why bother? You can follow her on Twitter. I believe her user name is The Whip Hand."

"Most amusing." Mycroft said as his phone rang. "Excuse me. Hello?"

He walked out of the room to answer it.

"Why does your phone make that noise?" John asked when Mycroft was gone.

"What noise?" Sherlock asked.

"That noise, the one it just made."

"It's a text alert, means I've got a text."

"Right, but your texts don't usually make that noise." I stated.

"Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently as a joke, personalized their text alert noise."

"Hmm, so every time they text you..." John started.

But the moan text alert cut him off.

"It would seem so." Sherlock finished.

"Could you turn that phone down a bit? At my time of life it's..." Mrs. Hudson trailed off.

"But I'm wondering who could have gotten hold of your phone. It would've been in your coat." John told him.

"I'll leave you to your deductions."

John and I exchanged a look, both trying to hide the smirks coming across our faces. I had a pretty good idea of who made the noise and put it on Sherlock's phone, and from John's face I could tell I was right. Whoever this Irene Adler was, she was very good.

"I'm not stupid, you know." John told him, still smirking.

"Where do you get that idea?" Sherlock muttered, holding the newspaper high to block his view of us.

"Bond Air is go, that's decided." Mycroft said quietly into his phone as he walked back in. "Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later."

"What else does she have?" Sherlock asked his brother, who returned with a confused look. "Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn't be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There's more. Much more. Something big is coming, isn't it?"

"Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours." Mycroft told him. "From now on, you will stay out of this."

"Oh, will I?"

"Yes, Sherlock. You will. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend."

"Do give her my love." Sherlock said, beginning to play 'God Save The Queen' on his violin, following Mycroft out of the door to the room.

I almost didn't hear my text alert over the sound of Sherlock's violin.

**Shall I send a car for you? – JM**

**Now, now, Mr. Moriarty. Have you learned nothing from my lessons in romance? – DR**

**So very sorry. What I meant to say was: I would like to see you today. Would you be interested in granting me the pleasure of your company? – JM**

**Much better. Give me the usual 45? – DR**

**Of course. Wear something comfortable; we won't be doing anything incredibly special. – JM**

"Sorry guys, I've got to jet. I've got another date." I said, standing up from my place at the table.

"What, he just texts you?" John asked.

"Well, he prefers to text. Like someone we know," I said, pointing a finger at Sherlock.

John gave a sly grin, and I doubt Sherlock was even paying attention. I walked down to my flat and ripped open my closet doors. What entailed 'comfortable'? And what did he mean by 'we weren't going to be doing anything special'?

I bit my lip, turning towards the set of dressers that held my night clothes and, more importantly, my lingerie. I was heavily debating putting on something enticing, but at the same time I didn't want to give in too quickly. But Jesus he was sinfully tempting. I ran my hands through my hair, groaning in frustration as I grabbed an aquamarine and teal set just in case.

I threw on a pair of black skinny jeans and a grey v-neck, topping it with a dark green cardigan. Hopefully this was good enough. I was putting the finishing touches on my makeup when my phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Your car is ready, ma'am," came the same voice as last time.

"Thank you."

I walked out, throwing my coat on as I locked the door behind me, and made my way to the car and the man holding the door open for me.

"You know," I started, "if you're going to continue to be my driver I'm going to have to learn your name."

"It's Griffiths, ma'am."

"Well, Griffiths, it's nice to officially meet you." I held out my hand for him.

"You too, ma'am," He replied, a little surprised, but shaking my hand nonetheless.

I grinned as I got into the car, "You know, you can call me Diana."

"Yes, ma'am." He said, closing the door behind me.

I laughed, shaking my head a little. Baby steps.

"So, Griffiths, where am I going today?" I asked as he started the car.

"The boss has decided you'll be spending the day at his home."

"Oh? Interesting."

"Why is that, ma'am?"

"Going to his home on the second date…the man who keeps everyone at arm's length, never does any business transactions personally but through one of his agents instead, and yet I'm being taken to his home." I looked up at Griffiths. "I think that means he likes me."

"It may be speaking out of place, but I think he does too."

"What, has he forbidden you to talk about him?"

"Something like that. My main job is to get you where you need to go safely."

"Your main job?"

He was silent.

"Griffiths, what did you mean by 'main job'?" I asked, the scolding mother tone staining my voice.

He cleared his throat, speaking the words almost reluctantly. "Mr. Moriarty likes to protect the things that he likes."

"So what, he's turned you into my personal body guard?"

"He's asked me to watch over you and protect you if need be."

I sighed, rubbing my temples, "If you bug my flat I'm slashing your tires."

He chuckled, "Fair enough, ma'am."

"Wait," I started, my eyebrows furrowing slightly. "You said he likes to protect the things that he likes. Plural. Are there other girls he's having driven around and…so on."

"There have been others before, ma'am, that I've driven around and been asked to look out for. You are the only one he's seeing right now, and you're the only one he's brought home to him."

I blew out a deep breath. That was a lot to take in.

"Uh, ma'am – "

"I know, don't mention this to Moriarty. Your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you ma'am."

"Anytime Griffiths."

We finally pulled up to Moriarty's house. It was unassuming enough from the outside, but it was located in the wealthy district of London, so my best guess was that the inside was very well decorated. Griffiths brought me up to the door, pulling a key out from his pocket.

"What, he doesn't answer his own door?"

Griffiths grinned at me, "Have fun, ma'am."

"Thanks," I said, walking inside.

I was right; it was ridiculously grand inside. Marble floors and pillars, and a spiral staircase in the rear of the foyer. I breathed out in awe. I could really enjoy living in a place like this.

"You look nice," I heard from behind me.

I turned around as saw Jim leaning against the door to the living room. I dragged my eyes across his frame; he was wearing black slacks and a white button down shirt tucked in, the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up.

"Comfortable?" I asked, grinning at him.

He shrugged slightly, "What can I say; I'm more comfortable in a suit. But, I was willing to go a little more casual. Suits don't do well for lounging on couches."

"Oh, so we're going to be lounging today, are we?"

He chuckled, "Well, I can't spoil you all the time."

"I'm sure," I returned.

He jerked his head towards the living room, indicating he wanted me to follow.

"Come on."

"What are we going to do?" I asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Well, I figured we could watch a movie."

"Alright," I replied, after staring at him for a few moments.

I followed him into the living room, a large and exceptionally plush couch sat across from a very impressive entertainment system.

"So what do you want to watch?" He asked as I sat down on the couch.

"What do you have?"

"I have every movie in the world at my fingertips."

I chuckled, throwing a sly grin at him.

"Criminal mastermind and a pirate. Of course."

He smirked, "Just tell me what you want to watch."

"Have you heard of the movie Heathers?"

"No, but it sounds girly."

I laughed, "Just put it on."

He smiled and shook his head, but did so anyways. He spent the entire movie either shouting abuse at the characters, claiming he could have killed people better and made it look like suicide more effectively, and actually laughing at some points.

By the end of the movie, my legs had ended up draped over Jim's legs, his arm wrapped securely around my waist.

"So, did you enjoy it?" I asked as he turned off the TV.

"Well, it wasn't awful," he replied, turning his head towards me.

"Admit it, you liked it."

"I'm not admitting anything."

/

He liked watching her smile. And the feel of her cuddled up against him. He brushed her hair away from her neck, drinking in the sight of the ivory column that cascaded down to delicious collarbones.

He had been good so far.

He had taken it slow their first date. He had romanced her and then kissed her, and that was all.

He twirled a strand of her hair in his fingers, smiling as he remembered the kiss. How good she tasted, a mix of the food and her natural flavor.

She was utterly enticing. He wondered why Sherlock had never made a move on her.

Or, perhaps he did and she had turned him down. The thought of that only made his smile grow.

"What are you smiling about?" She asked, turning towards him.

He didn't answer, pressing his lips against hers as his fingers wrapped in her hair.

"Jim," she muttered against his lips.

He didn't respond. He wanted to take in as much of her lips as he could.

"Jim," she repeated.

He ignored her once again, moving his lips down her jawline to the base of her throat, nipping at the soft flesh lightly.

"Jim," she repeated more forcefully, gently pushing him back slightly. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

"Why, is it working?"

She just stared at him, and he saw a wounded expression flash across her face.

"Is – is that why you brought me here?" she asked. "Because you didn't think I would put out any other way?"

"What?"

She gave a short, dry laugh. "I shouldn't have come here."

She disentangled her legs from his and got off the couch, making her way to the chair she had flung her coat on.

_No no no no no, this wasn't how it was supposed to happen_. He thought rapidly to himself.

He jolted off the couch and walked up behind her.

"No, wait, don't leave."

/

"Why shouldn't I?" I asked, turning around to face him.

He looked almost frazzled, but didn't answer. I rolled my eyes slightly, turning back to grab my coat. I would have to hail a cab home, since Moriarty would probably tell Griffiths not to take me home. I froze slightly as I felt Jim come up behind me, taking my hips lightly in his hands and nuzzling his nose into my hair.

"Please don't leave," He said softly, almost desperately.

His warm breath tickled my skin and the tone of his voice sent little shivers down to my fingertips.

_Sweet Jesus, I'm fucked._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: WARNING! This is a naughty bit because Jim is a very naughty boy! Skip if you are uncomfortable!**

* * *

"You still haven't told me _why_ I shouldn't leave, Jim," I said as gripped my coat, desperate to hold on to something.

"My little Diana, you need to loosen up." he said, and I could feel his smirk as he gripped my hips.

"Maybe you should to rein yourself in," I told him softly, my voice betraying my intended conviction.

He chuckled lightly, leaning close to my ear behind me.

"Let's compromise."

I gulped. I felt his hands, ever so light, brushing my hair to the side and his fingers, trailing down my side to settle on my hips. My breath caught. What was he doing? I needed to stop. This was a really bad idea. This was too fast for my liking. I…

"God!" My voice sounded high and shaky to my ears, my startled hands dropping my coat. His hands were tracing just under my shirt at the waist band of my jeans. He chuckled lowly.

"What was that Diana?" His voice was a little too low to sound entirely amused and light.

"N-nothing" I managed shakily, slowly moving my hands on top of his, with every intention of removing them from my hips.

This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong I kept repeating as I tried to convince my hands to pull his off of me. I had to keep myself in charge or things would end very badly. He would use me and leave, I just knew it. Griffiths had practically told me so. This was so wrong. Goddammit, but it felt so right.

"Oh!" my mouth betrayed me again as his hands, covered by mine, swept back up, sliding under my breasts and cupping them gently.

I felt his lips smirk against my neck…wait when had his lips moved to my neck? Pay attention Diana! You need to stop this. My good side was fighting a good fight, but as I felt his teeth graze my earlobe, I knew it wouldn't win out. Bad Diana was going to win this fight. Bad Diana wanted to give in. Bad Diana had been cooped up far too long.

I felt my hands drop from over his. I reached back and hooked my thumbs in the pockets of his slacks, and literally pulled myself up to his warm, smirking, attractive lips. His big hands slowly massaged my breasts through my shirt, leaving them burning hot and sensitive. My head rolled back on his shoulder as his hands crept lower again, resting on my stomach, playing with the hem of my top. His face tipped to the side and his lips collided with mine eagerly, and I returned his eagerness, my tongue requesting entrance to his warm, delicious beautiful mouth.

Bad Diana was taking over, and there was nothing Good Diana could do about it. I realized one of my hands had gone to his hair, the fingers woven in, and I was pulling him closer to me. He was moving his hands lower than my stomach, over my hip bones and down, down, down. My body felt like it was burning, and my underwear had to be completely soaked through by now. There was no way they weren't. Bad Diana was on the move.

I moaned into his mouth, wiggling my hips against his hand, which was now stroking me through the rough fabric of my jeans. Every so often I'd feel the hard contact of the seam and I'd jump at the sensation.

"Do you need more Diana?" His smooth, husky voice asked in my ear, the warmth of his breath assaulting my face in the most pleasurable fashion.

I merely nodded, not trusting myself to speak. His hands went to my shoulders and spun me around to face him, his lips never leaving my skin. I pushed myself up against him, clawing my hands into his hair, pressing my center into his thigh and sighing. It felt like his hands were everywhere, my hair, my back, my breast, my hip, my thigh, everywhere but where I wanted him to go. His lips were leaving red hot, fiery trails along my neck. I reached behind him and put my hands in the back pockets of his slacks and pulling his hips to mine, grinding, and hearing him moan softly into my shoulder.

This was taking a really long time and Bad Diana, Lonely Diana, and Sexually-Frustrated Diana were getting impatient. I reached down and pulled the bottom of his shirt out from his pants as swiftly as could before my fingers flew to his shirt buttons, not bothering to be slow or sexy about undoing them. I needed him to be naked. Now! He helped me shrug the shirt from his shoulders, his lips still attached to mine, our tongues battling it out, twisting and caressing and exploring wildly. His hands went to the hem of my shirt and barely breaking contact it was shed as well, my cardigan tangled in too. I could feel his skin against mine and it was almost system over load. He smelled so good, spicy from cologne and musky from aftershave. I could have stood there, breathing him in all day, but there were far more pressing matters at hand.

One of his hands cupped my breast, squeezing and fondling and driving me mad with desire, while his other one unclasped the back and slid the bra from my shoulders, flinging it across the room and diving toward my chest, his tongue attacking my raised nipples with gusto.

"Mmmm" he hummed, causing my entire body to vibrate as I clutched him closer.

"Oh my!" I gasped, kissing his shoulder, his neck, his face, needing to feel him, needing to him to know I wanted him, needing to know that he wanted me. I swirled my tongue around the hollow beneath his ear.

"Jesus," he groaned, his teeth latching to my nipple and twisting, driving my back to arch and my toes to curl into the thick rug underneath my feet.

I groaned, "Jim, I swear to god if you stop…" I threatened, running my fingernails down his back, earning a pleasured hiss from his perfect lips. I dug my nails a little deeper, hoping he'd get the point that I needed more, and I needed more now! I ground my center against his thigh again and he bit down on the fleshy part of my breast.

"That's it," he finally ground out, his voice heavy and forced.

He picked me up, my legs wrapping around him, as he carried me towards where I presumed his bedroom would be.

"What, you don't want to do me in your living room?" I asked as coherently as I could muster, his lips at my neck.

"Not for our first time, my dear." He said in between kisses. "No you deserve silk sheets for that."

We finally made it to his room, and laid me on the bed, pressing himself between my legs and unbuttoning my jeans.

"Off," he growled as he started on his own. I was more than happy to oblige, sliding the coarse material down the length of my legs and dropping them in a puddle on the floor. Jim had shed everything, and I gasped when I realized what I was in for.

"Y'okay?" he mocked, cocking that eyebrow in a smirk that was undeniably sexy.

"Just fine," was my weak reply. I felt my body go hot and my center was positively dripping with desire.

He stepped forward, brushing my soaking lace panties with his rock hard erection and gripping my thighs in his strong hands.

"Although these are lovely, they need to go" he whispered, stroking me through the fabric, the material scratching my heat and making me squirm.

I nodded, biting my lip to keep from screaming. His fingers entered the waistband and pulled it away from my overheating skin, slowly stroking back and forth, causing my legs to shake, and turn to jelly. I whimpered. I couldn't help it. My lips were on his neck, his jaw, his mouth. By far my favorite was his mouth. It was so warm, so sweet, so all encompassing. I wanted to drown in him. I wanted to go places neither of us had been before. I wanted to, no needed to risk something. I was risking something, I reminded myself absentmindedly.

_You're having sex with fucking Jim Moriarty, the guy who tried to kill your friends. _

I almost laughed at the thought. This was something I never thought I'd be doing.

"Something funny?" his voice was low and gravelly, and he kept nipping my ear as he asked, his fingers working expertly around my drenched panties.

I shook my head and kissed him again, raising myself up so he could pull the remaining article of clothing form my body.

"Much better" he purred, playing absentmindedly with the lips, his thumb making tight, feather light circles around my clit.

My breaths were coming shorter and closer together, my chest rising and falling painfully with the effort.

"Oh my god Jim," I gasped, arching my back and pressing my chest into his.

My hand reached forward of its own accord and grasped his thick shaft in my fingers. I squeezed lightly once, earning myself another hiss of "God, Diana" and then I began to pump, up and down at a painfully slow pace, feeling him grow in my hand to a point where my fingers could barely wrap around it. His lips had left my neck and his head was thrown back, mouth parted, eyes squeezed shut as he took in the pleasure. His fingers were still teasing me to the point where it was painful. I wanted to laugh and cry and scream and moan all at the same time, but every time I opened my mouth, no sound would come forth. Just a silent scream that said more than any noise would. I pushed myself toward his finger as he strained not to buck into mine.

"Let it go Jim," I said, trying to sound sultry.

He was trying too hard to hold off, and it would be so much hotter if he let go of whatever inhibitions he had. His voice sounded strained, almost agonizing when he finally spoke.

"I thought that's what you needed to do." He croaked. "I thought I needed to rein it in."

I crushed my lips to his again, and pulled back suddenly. "Shut up Moriarty," I groaned, thrusting my hips forward to his hand again as his entire palm rubbed circles.

My hand was stroking him slowly, painfully slowly as he kissed me back, pressing his bare chest to mine as he bit my shoulder.

"Oh God! Jim, oh fucking God!"

I couldn't form a coherent thought, I felt like my body was being sucked through a vortex. I was spinning so fast I couldn't think straight. My legs twisted around his, my toes curled, my back arched, my arms tightened, my nails dug into his back, my eyes were squeezed shut so hard my eyebrows hurt, and everything was every color and white all at the same time. My body rocked, it exploded with such force I thought it would break apart. And he kept rubbing and tapping until my body came down, shaking and shuddering with exhaustion. He kissed my forehead and pushed my sweaty hair from my face.

"You're incredibly sexy, you know that right?" He murmured, his fingers tracing down my stomach as I leaned back on my hands, panting. My eyebrows shot to the roof and I smiled wickedly and shrugged. "What?" He asked, looking suspicious as I slid forward, pushing us into a standing position.

I knelt and slid my mouth down his throbbing shaft, enveloping as much of it as I could and wrapping my hands around the rest. He grabbed the sheets urgently, twisting them viciously in his fingers, and I saw the muscles in his arms tighten in resistance. I slid my mouth to the end and stopped again, one hand squeezing his balls lightly as I quickly shot back toward the base once more.

"Good lord Diana!" He gasped, his toes curling into the carpet.

"Let go, Jim," I mumbled, stroking him faster now. "Fuck reining in," I snapped as I closed my mouth around him again, just in time to feel him swell; his hips drove forward and he came hard, flooding my mouth with his salty sweet release. I heard him moan and fall to his knees, still clutching the sheets, his head at the same level as mine. I swallowed and licked my lips as I watched his shaking body collapse.

"Fuck" he whispered, looking me straight in the eyes and placing his hand on my cheek. "Am I ever glad you broke your rules."

I chuckled lightly as I sat back against the bed. He leaned forward and kissed me, sweetly.

"I'd rather not be done with you yet" he whispered.

I shook my head.

"I'd rather not too," I agreed, reaching up and kissing him back, my mouth hungrily tasting his.

He gripped my thighs, pulling me up to the bed and pressing his body in between my thighs as he kissed me roughly, his mouth devouring mine, his teeth pulling my lips to the point where I was sure they were going to bleed. I had never been a fan of rough sex, and at that exact second I was definitely wondering why the hell not? I went to move my feet to clasp around his waist but he pushed them back to the bed and growled into my mouth. I felt another groan escape me as my body was washed over in delicious heat.

"Oh! Yes!" My voice was barely more than a whisper.

His hands roughly kneaded every piece of my body he could grab onto, my breasts by far being both of our favorites. I arched my back, pressing them into his hands.

"Jim…" I panted, not caring that I was beginning to sound weak and desperate.

"Yes Diana?" he panted, dragging his teeth across my collar bone.

"Agh! I…oh!"

"Yes Diana?" He asked again, his finger slowly stroking back and forth across my folds. My hips twitched and I moaned, half out of frustration, and half out of pleasure. "Was there something you wanted?"

His body was starting to sink toward my feet, his fingers playing rhythmically with my overheated, dripping center. He rested his chin just below my belly button and looked up through those glorious, long lashes at me, a smirk playing on his mouth, his eyes dark with lust. His fingers were still tracing wild circles, and I was fighting his hands as he tried to hold my hips to the mattress. My head rolled back and forth, my eyes tightly shut.

"No? Something you needed?" His fingers stopped briefly, giving me a second to catch my breath, and then he began a rhythmical tapping, like on a keyboard. I gasped. "Open your eyes Diana. Tell me what you want." His finger dipped slowly into my hot center, coating itself in my juices and causing my walls to contract violently once.

"Aagh!" I cried out. "Sweet Jesus! Jim!" He thrust his finger in again, slowly back and forth. "More!" I bit out, my lip a twist between my teeth. He added a second finger and I sighed in contentment once more, before the pressure became too much again. "I need….I want…" My voice wouldn't work. The words were barely more than a whisper. "Please!" I pleaded. I needed him to play along. He wanted this just as badly.

He pulled himself up, crashing his lips to mine, moving with me as our bodies pressed together, slick with sweat. I wound my arms around his neck, pulling him toward me and raising my hips to his, grinding down on his erection and hearing his hiss. He took hold of my hips and laid me back down, pressing his face to my neck as he pushed into my dripping center, sliding in slowly, groaning into my skin. I moaned in response, pressing my hips upward, feeling more fulfilled than I had in as long as I could remember. He sunk further, pressing into me, stretching me to the breaking point, both of us savoring the feeling of completeness, and then…he pulled back, and I whimpered, and he slammed in harder than before. I whimpered louder, pushing my hips up to meet his as he pounded down once more. He pulled out, almost to the tip and I simpered urgently and reached out, gripping his ass in my sweaty hands, digging my finger nails into the flesh. He groaned and slammed in once more and I held him tight, circling my hips beneath him.

"Diana," he grunted, beginning to thrust shallowly in and out again, pulling me up, then pressing me back against the floor again, harder and faster each time as my fingers clawed frantically, anywhere I could find to grab onto. One of his hands was stroking my arm, my chest, my side, my hip, the other hand was twisted into my long hair, combing through, and pulling hard as he became more frenzied. My hands went to his hair, pulling and clawing again, arching my back, driving him deeper.

"Harder" I begged. "Please God harder."

My legs tangled around his waist of their own accord and his pace picked up. My hands went to his shoulders, holding on for dear life as my body moved with his, up and down and around, slamming into the mattress, only to be pulled back to his chest once more, a kiss placed on my shoulder, my name on his lips.

"Yes! Jim! Oh!"

I was so close. My body was so tight it hurt. My back was crawling with electricity. My feet felt cold and numb. My toes curled so hard I thought they would break, and my back arched away from him, fingers still clinging desperately to his shoulders.

"Again!" I urged through gritted teeth.

He obliged, thrusting harder, faster, more freely than he had been, and I felt my body contract and shudder as my climax rocked through me, pulsing around him. I felt his hands tighten on my hips as he drove in once more, with a groan as his arms shook as he started to give into his orgasm. He rolled, pulling me on top of him, his hands stroking my back as his body calmed and his face relaxed.

"Oh, Jesus," He breathed harshly, shuddering as the aftershocks washed over him.

I nuzzled my head into the crook of his neck, kissing the skin lightly.

"Stay here tonight," he whispered, his hands beginning to stroke my hair.

"Mmhm," was all I could manage to respond.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews guys! Yes, it's a bit of a short chapter, but it was a good place to cut off.**

**Avis11: Wow, thank you! I'm glad you think I'm brilliant. I have to admit, I blushed at that, haha.  
**

**unicornmagik: Uhm...your heart might break a little more...cause we see more into Moriarty's head...heeee**

* * *

_Did I really just ask her to stay the night? Jesus, have I gone completely insane?_

Moriarty was lying there, staring at the ceiling, as his fingertips played with the flesh on Diana's hips. She was curled at his side, her eyes closed, as her fingertips danced across his ribcage. He brought a hand up, swiping the stray bits of hair off of his forehead and sighed. Well, the damage was done; he had asked and she had said yes.

He would be glad of the company, though. It got so boring at night, when his house was quiet and there was nothing to do. He sighed, maybe his loose tongue had done something right.

"So, that little number you were wearing," he started, she giggled softly as she rolled off him to search for the pieces he was talking about. "Are those yours?"

"Define 'mine'," she requested, laughing as she slipped on the underpants.

"Did you make them?"

"I did. It was part of my second collection: mythological creatures. That's the collection that made me famous."

"So which creature is that?"

"Mermaid," she said distractedly, looking around the floor for something, "version two, where are my – oh, right."

She ran a hand through her hair, walking towards his closet and pulling out a shirt.

"What are you doing?" He asked her as she fastened a few buttons.

"Going down to get my clothes; I can't very well walk around your house naked."

"Well, you could," he said, crossing his arms behind his head.

"You're incorrigible," she rolled her eyes; though her grin told him it wasn't malicious.

"You love it."

"Do I?"

"I hope so."

She walked out of the room, chuckling as she did so. Jim sighed, running his hands over his face. That was the second time they had that kind of dialogue. It was slightly worrying.

He had brought her to his home, something he had never done with any other of his conquests before.

He had asked her to stay the night.

He actually cared about what she thought of him.

And, most worryingly of all, he started to hope she was developing feelings for her.

But what scared him, scared him enough to actually _be_ scared, was that he was starting to develop feelings for her.

He was in trouble.

/

I padded down to the living room, scooping up the discarded clothes on the floor. I wondered if this would be a reoccurring thing, because if it was then I'd need to keep some clothes over here. I heard someone clear their throat behind me, and turned around, expecting to see Jim standing there. Instead, I saw a man with light brown hair leaning against the door frame. His face kind of reminded me of a bird, a hawk or some other kind of bird of prey, and his eyes were sharp and steely. I was frozen under his gaze.

"Well then, who might you be?" He asked, a grin coming across his face.

"Jim," I called up to him. "Get down here now!"

I heard a thump, probably Jim falling down trying to struggle his pants on, and moments later he emerged at the door, standing next to the man. He looked around, seeing nothing out of order in his eyes, and furrowed his eyebrows at me.

"What happened?"

I just jutted my hand out to the stranger, an 'uh, hello!' expression on my face. Jim turned, seeing the man standing there before turning back to me.

"Oh, that's just Sebastian." He informed me.

"Oh, well, that clears it up."

"I work for him," Sebastian jutted in.

Jim laughed quietly at something, "Sebastian and mermaids, that funny." He said pointing from Sebastian to me.

I got the connection immediately, having grown up on Disney movies, although I was shocked Jim knew about them. Sebastian, however, looked at Jim as if he had grown an extra head. The expression shifted to confusion before turning into amused realization.

"You just got laid, didn't you?" Sebastian chuckled, turning to me and raking his eyes up and down my form. "How was she?"

Jim's face darkened. "Watch it, Moran."

Sebastian held his hands up in defense, "Whoa, sorry boss. Didn't know you'd become so possessive."

"She's not for sharing."

"She's standing right here," I interjected, waving my hand to get their attention. "I'm going to go get dressed."

I brushed past them, heading up the stairs to the bedroom.

I left the door open as I was changing back into my clothes, hoping to hear what I could of their conversation.

"Well boss, you've definitely got a looker this time. How long are you going to keep this one?" I heard Sebastian say.

_Asshole._

I didn't hear Jim's reply, and I could only imagine the look he was giving Sebastian.

"Boss, you're not – she's just a shag and bag, right? You can't possibly be planning on keeping this one?"

"I'd stop talking now, if I were you," I heard Jim reply; though his voice was so low I could hardly make the words out.

I crept down the stairs, now fully clothed, trying to keep out of the two men's view. From my vantage point, I could see Sebastian cross his arms.

"In all the years I've known you, you've never even brought a girl home. Why her?"

Jim pursed his lips before sighing, "I don't know."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"I want you to watch her."

"I thought that was Griffiths' job."

"I want you on it too. I want her safe."

"What does she have?"

"Nothing. Nothing material anyways."

"Jim, why haven't I heard about her before?"

Sebastian stopped calling him boss. His tone had changed too. I wondered how good of friends they were.

"It wasn't your concern," Jim said, starting to walk off.

Sebastian held an arm out, stopping Jim in his tracks before guiding him back to where he was standing before.

"Jim, I'm your best, and probably only, friend. Yeah, I work for you, but I'm also the one you tell everything to. So, yeah, I'm a little concerned you haven't told me about her before. I mean, what do you know about her? What if she's using you or trying to get information out of you?"

Jim didn't respond, and I took his silence as an opportunity to walk back downstairs. I wasn't going to let this Sebastian guy badmouth me any longer.

"So Irene Adler," I started as I walked up to them. "I've been meaning to ask, what else does she have?"

"How do you know – " Sebastian started, but I cut him off with a hand to his face, keeping my eyes on Jim.

"Well, you practically told me so over our texts, and Mycroft was over this morning and told Sherlock to stay away, meaning she has something that he doesn't want Sherlock to get involved with." I turned to Sebastian, lowering my hand. "And yes, I said Mycroft and Sherlock, and I'm sure you know exactly who they are. I happen to live downstairs from Sherlock, but no I'm not using Jim, despite what you think. In fact, _he_ was the one who proposed this…whatever it is between us, so whoops! There goes your theory."

"You were eavesdropping," Sebastian accused.

"I like knowing what's being said about me, especially by cowards who don't have the balls to say it to my face."

"What did you – "

"Save it, Moran," I held up another silencing hand. "I honestly don't care what you have to say, but keep your shit out of my personal life, got it?"

I turned to Jim, who had a mildly surprised look on his face.

"I don't want Sebastian's protection, and I'm sure he's not too keen to give it to me. I actually don't mind Griffiths looking after me because I don't find him annoying or an asshole, thank you very much." I finished the sentence with a very pointed glare in Sebastian's direction.

I looked back at Jim, whose arms were now crossed and an amused but impressed look now coloring his features.

"I haven't seen that fire since we first met." He mused.

"What, have you missed me chewing people out?" I asked.

He chuckled, "I've just forgotten how feisty you can be."

"Ugh," Sebastian groaned. "I'm leaving, this is gross. I just came to drop off the tickets you had me get."

"Tickets?" I asked as Sebastian pulled an envelope out of his coat pocket and handed it to Jim.

Jim didn't answer as he pulled open the envelope and grinned at the contents.

"What are your plans for Christmas?" Jim asked, looking up to me.

"Um, I was probably going to go home, but it's not set in stone. Why?"

Jim grinned and passed the envelope to me, "Well now you have set plans."

"What, they're for her?" Sebastian said irritated.

Jim slapped him in the gut with the back of his hand to shut him up. I rolled my eyes at him as I opened the envelope, and my eyes widened in surprise.

"Tickets to Venice?"

Jim grinned at my reaction, "Well, you mentioned me sweeping you off to Italy."

"Oh my god, Jim, this is amazing! Thank you!"

I pulled him in for a hug, absolutely beaming. He chuckled as he wrapped his arms around my waist. I could see Sebastian rolling his eyes at us as we walked towards the door. I stuck my tongue out at him, flipping him the bird. He returned the gesture with a similar look of disdain as he shut the door behind him.

"But wait, you never told me," I said, pulling out from the hug. "What else does Irene have?"

"Something that's worth a lot to another client of mine." He responded vaguely.

"Jim," I said, a warning tone lacing my voice.

He sighed, "Do you watch the news?"

"Occasionally, why?"

"So you heard about the plane crash in Dusseldorf."

"Yeah, suspected terrorist bomb. Sherlock was called in because a guy who was supposed to be on that plane was found dead in a car trunk. Had all the plane paraphernalia, tickets, biscuit, et cetera. But what does that – "

I stopped, noticing the look on Jim's face. It told me he knew I could figure it out.

"Okay," I said, racking my brain for any kind of connection. "The Dusseldorf crash was a suspected terrorist bomb, and since you brought it up and said it was worth something to another client of yours, I'm going to assume that it _was_ in fact a terrorist bomb. So, if it was a terrorist bomb, then whatever Irene has on her phone is connected…how am I doing so far?"

"Remarkably well, considering you don't have all of the information."

"So then give me the missing pieces."

Jim gave a slight grin, "The terrorists who put the bomb on the plane think the British government cracked the code and put already dead bodies on it and turned it into a remote piloted aircraft."

"Oh, and the man in the trunk was supposed to be on there. Is that how they found out?"

"It's what tipped them off, yes."

"Huh, flight of the dead. Hundreds of casualties but no one dies. Novel. But, what does this have to do with Irene?"

"Irene has a code on her phone that she stole from an MOD guy. It could be related, but a cryptologist she…knows…couldn't figure it out. She didn't know the connection when she stole it, only knowing it was of some kind of importance."

"And so you sent her to Sherlock to figure it out?"

"That I did."

"Does she know the connection, even though she doesn't know what the code means?"

"Only vaguely. Not really planning on telling her."

"Because the less people that know, the better?"

"Precisely."

"So then why are you telling me?"

He paused, "Because I trust you."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Is there a reason why I shouldn't?"

"No."

"Then why do you ask?"

"Just curious. Trying to figure you out, that's all."

"But Diana, don't you know I like to keep a bit of mystery about me?"

"I noticed," I grinned, waving the envelope for emphasis. "So, are we really going to Venice?"

"That we are," He returned the smile.

"How did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That Venice is one of my favorite places in Italy."

His eyebrows raised, partly in shock, "Well, I didn't. It was just a guess, but I'm glad I guessed so well."

I laughed slightly, pulling him in for another hug. This was definitely getting interesting.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: We're getting close to getting caught up to 'More Effective'! And now...Venice time! Woo!**

**Keep the reviews up; I want to know what you guys think!**

**unicornmagik: Haha, I hope that was a good wow for Chapter 4****.**

**88dragon06: Yeah, my internship is still going very well. Thanks for asking!  
**

* * *

Sebastian sat at his laptop in his apartment, severely tempted to investigate this girl Jim was currently shagging.

Because there's no way Jim would actually keep a girl around. In the four years that they've known each other, Jim had never kept a girl for longer than a few days.

More importantly, he had never brought one to his house.

Or taken them to places like Venice.

Sebastian frowned; how much did Jim really know about this girl?

Firmly resolved, Sebastian leaned forward and began typing furiously on the keyboard. Normal searches on the internet wouldn't be enough, and thankfully he was well versed in the art of computer hacking.

Within minutes, her entire life story was displayed in front of him.

28, graduated summa cum laude from her university where she double majored in business and design, and minored in German.

Only child, her father made his money in oil and her mother was a housewife. She and her father were a part of a gun club.

_Huh, so she knows how to shoot. Wonder if she keeps a gun on her._

He pulled up her criminal history and didn't find anything. She was squeaky clean on that front.

Curious, he pulled up her medical history. She had broken her arm when she was ten after she fell off a horse. She had injured her leg when she was seventeen after landing the wrong way on her leg during a dance class. She –

Sebastian stopped, slightly surprised at the information presented in front of him.

She had a miscarriage when she was nineteen.

He stared at the words on the screen, slightly surprised and slightly guilty.

He had been kind of an asshole to her at Jim's house. Maybe she wasn't so bad after all. In any case, Jim seemed to trust her, so she couldn't be all that bad.

Only time would tell.

/

"What do you mean you won't be here for Christmas?" John practically demanded as I lugged my bag out into the foyer.

"Exactly what I said, John," I half laughed, grunting slightly at the weight at I set it down. "And I don't get what the big deal is about; I'm only going to be gone for five days."

"Yeah, but you're not even going home," he said, lowering his voice, "and you're going off with this guy who we haven't even met."

"What, is that what this is about?" I replied, matching his quiet tone. "Well, I'm sorry if I want to keep some things in my life private."

"But we're your friends – "

"Yes, and do you remember what happened to all the girls you brought home to our other friend?" I whispered even quieter, pointing a finger upstairs.

John pursed his lips, but his eyes told me that he did in fact remember.

"So you see why I'm not bringing him around? I actually want to keep this one, so if I have to hide him away from my friends, then I will until things get a bit more…official."

"Official?"

"Yeah, we're not exactly boyfriend and girlfriend yet; it's still in the romancing phase."

"But he's taking you to Venice…"

I grinned, "So here's to hoping."

There was a knock on the door, which John answered. Griffiths stood there and, without saying a word to John, walked in and picked up my suitcase, giving a small nod to me.

"Who's this?" John asked, jabbing a thumb in Griffith's direction.

"He's my driver…and my friend," I added as I followed Griffiths out to his car.

"Your driver? Since when do you have a driver?" John asked, following us outside.

"I don't know, since now," I shrugged. "John, what's the big deal."

"Fancy cars, a driver, a trip to Venice and who knows what other fancy things…I just don't want this guy changing you."

"John," I chuckled, pulling him into a hug. "I'm not going to change. I'm always going to be your and Sherlock's friend. Okay?"

"Yeah, just…be safe."

I chuckled, pulling aside my coat to reveal my gun holstered to my side. "Always am."

He grinned as I got into the car, Griffiths closing the door behind me. We exchanged a wave as Griffiths started the car and pulled away.

"You brought a gun, ma'am?" Griffiths asked me as he drove.

"Just a precaution. I am going to a foreign country with a criminal mastermind, after all. If someone wanted to kidnap me and use me for leverage, they'd have a hard time doing it with a bullet to the brain."

Griffiths hummed a laugh.

"What?" I asked.

"You and Mr. Moriarty think alike."

"Oh? How so?"

"Because he's bringing Moran and I along with you."

"Wait, what? Why is _he_ coming? I mean, I know he works for Jim and all, but why _him_?"

Griffiths grinned, "Are you not a fan of Moran?"

"Heh, that rhymed. But no, I'm not a fan of his."

He gave another quiet laugh, "Well you'd be the first."

"What, did the other girls Jim…knew…go for him? Is that why they didn't stay around for long?"

"Yes and no. It was sort of an arrangement between Mr. Moriarty and Moran that Moran would get the girls after Mr. Moriarty was finished with them."

"An ongoing buffet of sloppy seconds, huh?" I grinned.

"Well, it's not like Moran can't get a girl on his own. He's a bit of a womanizer. However, it's no secret that Mr. Moriarty likes the finer things in life, and that goes for women as well. So, naturally Moran wanted his turn with them as well."

"And did you take a turn to?" I asked, an eyebrow raised.

"I'm gay, ma'am."

"Oh. Right on." I replied, rather surprised.

My gaydar had never been fooled before, but then again I had never interacted with Griffiths when he wasn't being super professional with me. He probably acted completely different when he was off-duty.

"But hang on," I started, "that kind of makes sense, because Jim told Moran that I wasn't for sharing. And then later on he got upset at him when he said, and I quote, 'you're not thinking about keeping this one'." A wild grin came over my face, "That means he liiiikes me."

Griffiths chuckled, "That he does, ma'am. Though it's very much so not my place to say."

"Aw, come on Griffiths, we're friends. What's said in the car stays in the car."

"Thank you ma'am," he smiled.

"But wait, you never told me why Moran is coming with us."

"Moran is very proficient with a gun. He was an Army Colonel of the First Bangalore Pioneers."

"Was?"

"Officially he was obliged to retire while he was in Afghanistan."

"Wait, he fought in Afghanistan? John fought in Afghanistan, and he was in the Army too."

"Yes, Dr. Watson was honorably discharged from the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers after being wounded in action."

"Uh, Griffiths, did you do a background check on my neighbors?"

"It's part of my job, ma'am."

"Uh huh, so what was the unofficial reason Moran retired?"

"He got too 'fire-happy' if you catch my meaning. Went rogue one too many times for the Army's liking. Needlessly tortured citizens for information they didn't have."

"Classy," I grimaced.

"After he returned he joined Mr. Moriarty's business as his chief sniper, although the two knew each other for some four years, I believe. They met during a card game; Moran is quite a fan of card games and sometimes uses less than honest means to win."

"You mean he cheats."

"Precisely, ma'am. He was caught and killed the man who exposed the fraud with the man's own gun. Mr. Moriarty helped him cover up the murder to spare him from ejection from the army on the condition that he joined Mr. Moriarty once he returned."

"And the rest is history, I guess. But so what, he's a good shot. Big deal."

"Not quite, ma'am. He's probably the second most dangerous man in London, the first being Mr. Moriarty. He's never missed a shot and is brave to the point of recklessness. He once crawled down a drain after a wounded man-eating tiger. The skin of that tiger is now on his bedroom floor. He's not a man I would make enemies with, ma'am."

"Hmm, I'll keep that in mind. Thanks Griffiths."

"Any time, ma'am."

We finally pulled up to the airport. I probably shouldn't have been surprised when it was neither Heathrow nor Gatwick, but rather a small, private airport. Jim was standing in front of the plane, Moran at his side, and smiles as I climbed out of the car.

"Are you excited, little Diana?" He asked as I walked up to him, kissing me on the cheek when I reached him.

"Very," I returned the kiss. I turned to Moran and nodded lightly, "Sebastian."

"Diana," he returned.

It was an awkward moment, but there was a tense truce formed between us. Jim had probably talked to him and told him to lay off on the asshole-ish-ness. Whatever the reason, I was glad for it. Taking what Griffiths said about him, I didn't want to piss Moran off too terribly.

"I warn you," I told Jim as we sat in the small plane, "flying makes me sleepy, so I'm sorry if I nod off."

Jim chuckled, "It's alright. Just gives me an excuse to cuddle you."

I rolled my eyes, but grinned nonetheless.

Sure enough, I fell asleep on the plane ride over. I woke up to Jim shaking me gently. Over the next few days of exploring the city, I began see why Griffiths and Moran had been so surprised that Jim let me in so quickly.

When he looked with his almost black eyes, you could see the weariness of the world that dwelled within him. The tiredness at the ordinary, banal people that populated the world. The hatred for the menial and useless, the unintelligent and feeble-minded. The evaluation of every weak point of a person and the strategizing of its destruction, whether it was actually going to happen or not, or whether it was business or not. He moved his face with an almost snake-like fashion that I hadn't seen, or maybe I hadn't looked for, since the escapade with the bombs.

But what scared me more than anything was the fact that I _wasn't_ scared by it. I was greatly concerned, even slightly impressed, but not scared. Maybe it was a false sense of security due to the fact that I was kinda-sorta dating him. Or maybe it was a testament to how bored I had become with my life. Perhaps I was more like him and Sherlock than I cared to admit.

I didn't dwell on that thought process for long. It was soon Christmas Eve day, and I had to Skype call my parents as a compromise for not coming home for Christmas. They had mailed their gift to me, and I had brought it along for the call.

"I'm sorry about this," I had told Jim before I called them. "It was the only way I could come here without getting a ton of shit from my parents."

"It's alright. Granted, I'd rather not be doing it at all, but something good may come out of it nonetheless."

I gave him a confused look, but didn't press the issue as I started the video call.

"Hi honey!" My mom waved as her image came on the screen. "How's Venice?"

"Is that the young man that stole you away from us?" My dad interjected jokingly.

"Hi mom, hi dad. Venice is amazing. And yes, this is Jim."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Remus." Jim said pleasantly.

_Wow, he is really good at acting normal._

"Please, call me Henry, son." My dad returned.

"Uh, wow. Son? You've certainly taken to him faster than any of the other guys I've dated."

"Well sweetie, he's the first young man to treat our daughter like the lady she is," my mom answered, turning to Jim, "and you can call me Victoria, dear."

"Okay, alright, your niceness it weirding me out," I laughed. "Go on, open your presents!"

"Eeep!" My mom squealed as she opened her present. "Oh honey, this is wonderful!"

I had gotten her an almost exact replica of Scarlett O'Hara's dress in Gone With the Wind, my mother's favorite movie. She had been talking about having a New Year's Costume ball and now she had the perfect costume for it.

"And honey, that golf set you got me will make all the boys at the country club jealous." My dad told me, smiling.

"Dad," I scolded. "Did you open your gift before the call?"

He shrugged guiltily, "I couldn't help it. I got curious."

"Okay, now open your gift." My mom said excitedly.

I picked up the small box off of the table, next to where we had propped the laptop.

"Now, you told us not to get you something big, so we didn't," she giggled.

I opened the box and my jaw dropped. Inside the box was a ring that I had no business wearing.

"18 karat white gold, 24 carat aquamarine and diamonds brighter than the stars," My dad illustrated.

"Guy, I said nothing big," I breathed, not taking my eyes off the ring. "This is Piaget, this is way too expensive."

"Well honey, how much do you think your gifts to us cost all together?" My mom asked me.

"That's not the point."

"The point is we are proud of you, darling," My dad told me. "And if we want to spoil our only daughter in whatever way we can now that she's a business woman, we're dang sure gonna."

I smiled. My parents were ridiculous.

"Thank you guys, it's wonderful. I love you."

"We love you too honey. Now, you better wear that ring, little missy! We didn't buy it so it could sit in the box." My mom instructed playfully.

"I will. I promise."

"Now, Jim, I think you have a present for Diana too." My dad said, smiling.

"Wait, what's going on?" I asked, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"I may have contacted your parents to coordinate gifts," Jim said, pulling out a box from his suitcase.

"You little sneak," I teased, opening it up. "Holy Jesus, Joseph and Marc Jacobs!"

Inside the box lay a necklace made of diamonds, emeralds, aquamarines, tourmalines all in white gold. My jaw was practically on the floor as I stared at it.

"Jim, this is..." I searched for the right word, "gorgeous. But you shouldn't have; I mean, you took me on this trip. That was plenty enough."

"Sweetheart, never turn down jewelry from a man," my mom interjected, smiling wryly.

"Yes, ma'am," I smiled.

"We'll let you two go," my dad said. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

"Merry Christmas mom; Merry Christmas, dad."

"And Merry Christmas to you too, Jim."

"Merry Christmas Mr. and Mrs. Remus."

We hung up the call, and I immediately punched Jim in the arm.

"What was that for?" He asked, rubbing his arm slightly.

"That gift was way too damn expensive." I scolded.

"Oh? Well what about your gift to me?" He asked, waving it in front of me.

I had no words in my defense. I had blown a lot of money on my gift to Jim.

"That's different."

"How?"

"Well what else was I supposed to get the man who can get the whole world at the snap of his fingers?"

His eyes softened, losing their defensive but playful air.

"Just having you is enough," he responded, kissing me on my forehead.

"Cheesy, but thank you." I responded, not bothering to hide the blush on my cheeks. "Okay, open it, if you haven't already." I finished playfully.

He opened it, and a sincere expression of surprise came across his face.

"Wow, you did spend a lot of money." he breathed.

I nodded, breathing in deeply as I reminisced at the cost. I had gotten him a diamond and white gold cased watch with a black crocodile skin strap, emeralds and a transparent sapphire dial. I was just thankful sales had gone up massively during the holiday season, or else I would have been in serious financial trouble.

"You didn't have to buy this." He said, breaking his gaze from the watch.

"Probably not, but I wanted to."

He said nothing, but pulled me in for a deep, long kiss.

* * *

**Just a reminder of Diana's presents:**

**www(.)piaget [minus the parenthesis]: **

**.com/jewelry/white-gold-aquamarine-diamond-ring-g34lh400#**

**.com/jewelry/white-gold-aquamarine-diamond-necklace-g37l9700**

**Here's a link to Diana's present to Jim [again, take out the parenthesis]**

******www(.)graffdiamonds**(.)com/#/watches/collections/technical/skeleton/watch/diamond-and-white-gold-6


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Blah blah blah...bit of a crap chapter, but we get to see Diana beat up the douchey CIA guy again!**

**I do really appreciate the reviews though. Seems you guys are enjoying my Moriarty (for now...muahahahah)**

* * *

When I returned from Italy, I was met with a sight that I hadn't seen before. Sherlock was composing music with his violin. He would pause every so often, scribbling the notes he played on a blank piece of sheet music. It wouldn't have struck me as odd, were it not for the next words John told me.

"Irene Adler's dead." He said quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the violin.

"What? How?"

"I don't know. She sent her camera phone to Sherlock; that phone was her lifeline, her means of protection."

"She chose to give it up." I offered.

"Yeah, seems like."

"And now he's like this?" I asked, gesturing to Sherlock.

"He's been like that since we found out. I don't know why, though?"

"Seriously John, it's probably because he liked her."

"But he barely knew her."

"So? He knew enough, apparently."

John sighed, walking over to Sherlock as he put his jacket on, not wanting to be surrounded by the sad music any longer.

"Lovely tune, Sherlock, haven't heard that one before." Mrs. Hudson told him, picking a few plates off the table.

"Composing?" John asked.

"Helps me to think." He responded.

"What are you thinking about?" John asked him.

"The count on your blog is still stuck at 1895.' Sherlock said, putting his violin down and pointing at the laptop screen.

"Yes. Faulty, can't seem to fix it." John muttered.

"Faulty, or you've been hacked and it's a message." Sherlock grabbed Irene's phone.

He typed in the supposed code, but the angry beeping of the phone told him he was wrong. It must've been the phone that belonged to Irene. And it was password protected, so whatever she had on there that Mycrof didn't want Sherlock to find out about were safe…for now.

"Just faulty."

"Right." John said, "Right. Well, I'm going out for a bit."

There was no response from Sherlock, who returned instead to playing his violin. John tapped me on the shoulder and lightly waved me into the kitchen where Mrs. Hudson was.

"Listen, has he ever had any kind of girlfriend, boyfriend, a relationship, ever?" John asked her.

"I don't know." She told him.

"How can we not know?"

"He's Sherlock. How will we ever know what goes on in that funny old head?" He laughed lightly.

"Right. See you." He said, nodding to us slightly before walking out.

**Come downstairs, we need to talk. SM**

"Uh, Mrs. Hudson, I've got to go too." I said, making my way out of the flat.

I walked outside to see Sebastian leaning against his car, an angry looking black eye forming on his right eye.

"Jesus, what happened to you?" I asked.

"You know how to shoot?" He returned.

"Uh, yeah. But what does that have to do with your black eye?"

"I'll explain later. Come on," he replied, opening up the passenger door for me.

I got in, thankful I still had my gun with me. It wasn't that I thought he was going to try to kill me, but after what Griffiths said I figured it would be wise to stay armed around him just in case. We drove silently, finally coming to an indoor shooting range.

"Um, what are we doing here?" I asked cautiously, following him in nonetheless.

"Jim thinks we need to get to know each other better." He replied.

"And do you agree?"

Sebastian was silent, continuing to walk towards our intended destination. We didn't talk for a while. After a few rounds, I finally started the conversation.

"It's kind of hard to get to know each other if we don't talk."

Again he was silent.

"You can start by telling me how you got that black eye."

He was silent for a moment longer, choosing his words carefully.

"Jim found out that I researched you." He said cautiously.

I didn't respond, only walking to a rack with throwing knives we had passed on the way to our section. When I got back, I threw it into the heart of the target, and then turned to Sebastian with a murderous glare.

"I didn't know you could do that." He stated, shocked.

"Yeah, it wouldn't be in my file. I took it up after…my freshman year of university."

"After the baby thing?"

I laughed bitterly, "So you did research me."

"Yeah, sorry."

"Does Jim know?"

"No, he said it was a violation of your trust to look at the files. I don't even know how he found out I did it, but then again I don't know how he does a lot of things." He paused. "Why haven't you told him?"

"How would I even bring that up? 'Oh hey, guy I'm having sex with, let me tell you about the time that I got pregnant and miscarried, an event that left me emotionally scarred. Let's go do an activity that will potentially lead to conceiving a baby!' Somehow I don't see that going over well."

"Fair enough," he shrugged. "Are you ever going to tell him?"

I thought for a moment, "Do you think things between him and I are going to get more serious?"

He shrugged again, "I don't know. He's not really one for actual relationships, but then again he's done a lot of things for you and with you that he's never done with any girl before."

I sighed, "Well, I guess if things _do_ start to get more serious then I'll have to tell him. But for right now, can we just keep it between you and me?"

"Yeah sure."

My phone started ringing in my pocket. When I saw the caller ID, I frowned, but answered it nonetheless.

"Sherlock, are you okay? You never call when you can text."

Sebastian scrunched his face, irritated I was taking a call from his boss' enemy. I stuck my tongue out at him in response.

"I followed John today." Was all he said.

"As opposed to"

"She's alive."

"Irene?"

"Yes. And John didn't even ask her how, or why, or what the hell was going on. He just gave her an order. To tell me she was alive. Why would he do that?"

"Because John knows how you are. How you think. And while you may not be in love with her, John knew you were heartbroken nonetheless."

"But why?"

"Why were you sad or why does he know you so well."

"The former."

"I don't know; I never met her. But there must have been something about her that intrigued you. And I think the fact that Mycroft didn't want you involving yourself with her just made her more enticing."

I heard a soft chuckle on the other end, telling me I was right.

"Are you at home?" He asked, his tone suddenly shifting.

"No, I'm at a shooting range."

"When did you leave?"

"Um, little over an hour ago, why?"

"Because I'm at the front door. Someone broke in. Stay there."

"What?" I yelled into phone, startling a few of the other people in the range, but he had hung up.

"Oh mother fucker," I muttered, shoving my phone back in my pocket.

"What happened?" Sebastian asked, his eyebrows furrowed, both in worry and confusion.

"Baker Street got broken into; I have to get there now."

We walked hurriedly to the car, a million different scenarios running through my head.

"What's the big deal, it's just a break in," Sebastian informed me as we drove back to Baker Street.

I scoffed, "Of course you would say that. In Baker Street, especially where Sherlock's concerned, nothing is 'just' an anything. I mean, the last time we got broken into, part of London fell down and went boom. Not to mentioned Mrs. Hudson is there alone!"

"So?"

"So? She's been like a mother to me since I've been here. If she's been hurt I'll turn whoever did it into Swiss cheese."

Sebastian chuckled, but I could tell he saw the implication in my words. If people hurt those I cared about they'd be in a world of pain. And we both knew I included Jim in those I cared about.

We pulled up to Baker Street and I bounded out of the car. Sebastian started to follow me, but I held out a hand to stop him.

"No, Sebastian. You can't go up."

"Why not?"

"Uh, think about who you work for."

"But Jim wants you protected. You going into a potentially dangerous situation without me isn't being protected."

"I'm a big girl, Sebastian. I can fire my own gun and everything. Please, don't come up."

I was thankful that he didn't follow me up the stairs. When I got there, I was met with a very familiar face bound with duct tape to a wooden chair.

"What the fuck?" I exclaimed as I walked in.

I turned and saw Mrs. Hudson sitting on the couch, obviously very badly shaken. I rushed over and knelt beside her.

"Mrs. Hudson, are you okay," I turned to Sherlock. "What did he do to her?"

"Roughed her up a bit, trying to find the phone." He replied. "Doesn't matter, got him tied up. Had to make do without your rope skills."

"Wouldn't matter. He knows every knot I can made and how to undo them in three seconds flat."

"Wait, you know him?"

"Neilson, CIA and one tough son of a bitch. My dad went to college with him. Neilson watched me grow up. I cannot fucking believe he did this."

And then, a thought hit me.

"Wait, you said CIA agents were at Irene's house and threated to shoot John if you didn't get the phone."

"That's right," Sherlock grimly replied.

I turned back to Neilson.

"Oh that mother fucker."

We waited for about five minutes until he finally woke up. I sat on the couch, rubbing Mrs. Hudson's shoulders while Sherlock loomed over him. When he came to, Sherlock immediately punched him in the face.

"That's for the door." Sherlock said.

"Imagine what it'll feel like when he gets to repaying you for hurting Mrs. Hudson," I told him as I walked up to him, twirling a set of platinum coated brass knuckles. "Remember when you gave me these? My 16th birthday. Got them engraved and everything. You taught me how to throw my first punch with them." I got up and stood in front of him. "You want to see how much I've improved?"

I reared back, nailing him in jaw with a swift right hook.

"What the fuck were you thinking hurting a defenseless woman over a phone? Is that what they trained you to do? Makes me fucking sick to be the same nationality as you." I leaned closer to him, my tone dropping to a dangerous level. "And if you breathe a word of this to my dad I'll let him know you endangered my safety and emotional well-being. Over a phone. He knows about Mrs. Hudson and how she's taken care of me like a daughter since I moved in. You hurt her, and by extension you hurt me. And you know my dad; it doesn't matter if the key to saving the world was on that phone. I'm his little girl. He'd hunt you down and rip the still beating heart out of your chest. Might want to think about that."

I turned to Sherlock.

"He's all yours. You can use these if you want." I said, handing him the brass knuckles.

"Don't mind if I do."

As Sherlock began working on Neilson, I pulled out my phone.

**Situation's handled. We're fine up here. DR**

**Good. Jim would've killed me if anything happened. SM**

I pursed my lips, typing a message to Jim.

**Your little gift to Sherlock just caused our house to be broken into. Thanks for that. DR**

**How is that my fault? JM**

**They wanted Irene's phone, which she gave to Sherlock when she 'died'. They want the phone and what's on it, thus the break in. You were the one who sent her to Sherlock, ergo…you suck. DR**

**I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you. JM**

**You better, mister. DR **

By the time Sherlock was done with him, he was well and truly bloody. I leaned against the table as he sat down and got on the phone to call Lestrade. As he put the phone to his ear, John walked in.

"Jeez, what the hell is happening?" John asked, seeing the bloody Neilson taped to the chair.

"Mrs. Hudson has been attacked by an American; I'm restoring balance to the universe." Sherlock informed him.

"Mrs. Hudson. My God, are you all right?" John said worriedly as he sat next to her. "Jesus, what have they done to you?"

"Oh, I'm just being so silly." She told him.

"Downstairs," Sherlock told him, standing up. "Take her downstairs and look after her."

"I'm fine." She told John, standing up anyways.

"It's alright, I'll have a look at it," John told her.

"I'm fine." She repeated as she walked out of the room.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" John asked Sherlock.

"I expect so, now go." He said sharply, directing his attention to the phone. "Lestrade? We've had a break-in at Baker Street. Send your least irritating officers and an ambulance. Oh, no, no, no, we're fine. No, it's the burglar, he's got himself rather badly injured. Oh, a few broken ribs, fractured skull, suspected punctured lung...He fell out of a window."

I grinned evilly as I looked over at Neilson, who responded with a 'you've got to be kidding me' expression. We heaved him out of the chair, removing the duct tape from only the chair to keep his bindings intact. He struggled as I opened the window and struggled even more as we threw him out. He landed with a sharp thunk on Mrs. Hudson's trash bins.

"I don't think he's learned his lesson, yet. What do you think, Sherlock?"

"I think you're absolutely right."

"And exactly how many times did he fall out the window?" Lestrade asked Sherlock as they wheeled Neilson away onto the ambulance.

"It's all a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector. I lost count." Sherlock informed him.

John and I waited with Mrs. Hudson in her flat while Sherlock was out talking to Lestrade. He had calmed down considerably, but still seemed shaken.

"She'll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight," John told Sherlock as he walked back in. "We need to look after her."

"No... She's fine."

"No, she's not, look at her." John stressed. "She's got to take some time away from Baker Street. She can stay with her sister, doctor's orders."

"Don't be absurd." Sherlock said, biting into a biscuit he got out of Mrs. Hudson's fridge

"She's in shock, for God's sake, and all over some stupid camera-phone where is it anyway?"

"Safest place I know."

Mrs. Hudson chuckled, removing the phone from her top. "You left it in the pocket of your second best dressing gown, you clot! I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry."

"Thank you." Sherlock said, taking the phone. "Shame on you, John Watson."

"Shame on me?"

"Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street? England would fall." He said, hugging her to him.

**Just to let you know, I'm staying here tonight just in case. DR**

**Good idea. Irene's going to be dropping by for the 'damsel in distress' phase of her plan, so keep an eye out for her. JM**

**Roger that. DR**

**You're sexy when you follow orders. JM**

**Oh hush you. DR **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: We're getting closer to being caught up, yaay! I'm pumping out chapters as quickly as I can.**

**unicornmagik: Haven't you realized by now I'm kind of evil? Of course there's a "for now".  
**

* * *

I hung around the flat the next day, waiting for Irene to come. Sherlock and John had both left, so I stayed in the living room, sitting in Sherlock's chair, to have a better vantage point of all her possible entrances. I heard a window open in the kitchen and saw Irene crawling through it when I walked in. When she my steps behind her, she turned around sharply, ready to attack.

"Whoa, down girl," I said, holding my hands up. "It's okay. I'm guessing you're Irene."

"I am. Who are you?"

"I'm Sherlock's downstairs neighbor. I'm also dating Jim Moriarty, but let's keep that on the down low, okay?"

"Oh, right. Sure." was all she replied.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

She was certainly a beautiful woman, but she looked as if she hadn't slept well if at all.

"I'm fine. Would he mind?" She asked, gesturing to Sherlock's door.

"I doubt it," I replied, walking in and turning down the sheets for her. "He hardly sleeps anyways."

She got in the bed and I pulled the covers over her.

"Do you need anything?" I asked. She just shook her head. "Okay, well I'm going to be in the living room, so yell if you need me."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" She asked as I made my way to the door.

"Well, for one, you faked your death and Sherlock has your phone. Now that you're not dead anymore you don't have any protection. My guess is you've been hiding for your life. I can't imagine what you've gone through. Secondly, you're pretty important to finishing this plan. After all, you've got the passcode to the phone, and the code is on the phone."

"How – "

"Jim told me so I could back you up. Just get some sleep, okay?"

"Thank you," she said, laying down and closing her eyes.

I shut the door quietly behind me and walked into the living room, picking up a random book and reading it. I must have lost track of the time because the next thing I knew, I was in the middle of the book and Sherlock had come home. He paused when he entered the flat, sniffing slightly.

"Sherlock, there's – "

"Shh," he cut me off, sniffing again.

"But, I – mmf." He had clamped his hand over my mouth, silencing me.

He sniffed again, tracking the smell to the window Irene had come through. He sniffed again, following the smell towards his room and the front door closed.

"Hey, Sherlock..." John called as he walked down the stairs.

"We have a client." Sherlock told us as he looked through his open door.

"Which is what I was trying to tell you," I responded sharply, standing next to him.

"What, in your bedroom?" John asked as he came up to the door, looking in and seeing Irene asleep.

"You knew?" Sherlock asked me.

"I caught her as she was coming in," I started shooing them out. "Come on, she's sleeping."

"In my room," Sherlock protested.

"You don't even use it anyways."

I forced the boys to wait until Irene had woken up. Poor thing needed every bit of sleep she could get. When she did appear, she was wearing Sherlock's robe. She sat across from me in Sherlock's chair. Sherlock and John were seated in the table chairs.

"So, who's after you?" Sherlock asked.

"People who want to kill me." She replied cryptically.

"Who's that?"

"Killers."

"It would help if you were a tiny bit more specific." John said.

"So you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them?" Sherlock asked.

"It worked for a while." She returned.

"Except you let John know you're alive, therefore me."

"I knew you'd keep my secret."

"You couldn't."

"But you did, didn't you? Where's my camera-phone?"

"It's not here. We're not stupid." John replied.

"What have you done with it? If they've guessed you've got it, they'll be watching you." She informed us.

"Then they'll know I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the Strand a few months ago." Sherlock replied coolly.

"I need it."

"Well, we can't just go and get it, can we?" John asked. "Molly Hooper, she could collect it, take it to Barts. Then one of your homeless network could bring it here, leave it in the cafe, one of the boys downstairs could bring it up the back."

"Very good, John, excellent plan, full of intelligent precautions."

"Thank you." John pulled out his phone. "So why don't I, for fu – "

Sherlock pulled the phone from his pocket, irritating John a bit.

"So, what do you keep on here? In general, I mean?"

"Pictures, information, anything I might find useful."

"What, for blackmail?" John asked.

"For protection. I make my way in the world, I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be."

"So how do you acquire this information?"

"I told you - I misbehave."

"But misbehaving got you something more dangerous than protective." I stated. She nodded. "Do you know what it is?"

"Yes...but I don't understand it."

"I assumed. Show me." Sherlock requested.

She held her hand out expectantly. Sherlock moved it out of her reach.

"The passcode." He demanded.

She didn't move. Reluctantly, he handed the phone over. She typed in the passcode, but the error beep sounded.

"It's not working." She stated.

"No, because it's a duplicate I had made into which you just entered the numbers 1058." Sherlock told her, taking the real phone out from the seat in his chair. "I assumed you'd choose something more specific than that, but thanks, anyway."

Sherlock typed the number in, but again the error beep was heard again.

"I told you that camera-phone was my life. I know when it's in my hand." She told him.

"Oh, you're rather good." He replied.

"You're not so bad."

"Hamish." John interjected, slightly uncomfortable. "John Hamish Watson, just if you were looking for baby names."

I snorted. Now I was fully aware of why Jim had gotten her to go after Sherlock. She was very good at flirting, and was even getting Sherlock to flirt back. Had things been different I might've been a little jealous, but instead I was rather impressed.

"There was a man, an MOD official and I knew what he liked. One of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn't know but I photographed it - he was a bit tied up at the time." She handed Sherlock the phone. "It's a bit small on that screen, can you read it?"

"Yes." He replied.

"Code, obviously." She continued. "I had one of the country's best cryptographers take a look, though he was mostly upside down, as I recall. Couldn't figure it out. What can you do, Mr. Holmes? Go on, impress a girl."

She leaned down, kissing Sherlock lightly on the cheek. As soon as her lips left his cheek, he began to speak rapidly.

"There's a margin for error, but I'm pretty sure there's a 747 leaving Heathrow tomorrow at 6.30 for Baltimore. Apparently it's going to save the world, I'm not sure how, but give me a moment, I've only been on the case eight seconds."

We looked at him, stunned.

"Oh, come on, it's not code, these are seat allocations on a passenger jet." He turned the phone towards John, I got up and leaned over him to look. "Look, no 'I' because it can be mistaken for one. No letters past 'K' - the width of the plane is the limit. The numbers always appear not in sequence, but the letters have little runs of sequence families and couples sitting together. Only a Jumbo's wide enough for a letter 'K' or rows past 55, which is why there's always an upstairs. There's a row 13 which eliminates the more superstitious airlines. Then there's the style of the flight number, '007', eliminates a few more. Assuming a British point of origin which would be logical because of the original source, and assuming from the increase of pressure on you that the crisis is imminent, the only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the 6.30 to Baltimore tomorrow from Heathrow Airport." He turned to Irene. "Please don't feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing, John's expressed that in every possible variant available in English language."

"I would have you right here, on this desk, until you begged for mercy twice." She told him plainly.

I raised my eyebrow, staring at the two.

"John, can you check those flight schedules, see if I'm right?" Sherlock asked John.

"I'm on it, yeah." He replied.

"I've never begged for mercy in my life." Sherlock told Irene.

"Twice."

"Yeah, you're right," John said, looking up from his computer. "Flight double 'o' seven."

"What did you say?" Sherlock asked him.

"You're right."

"No, what did you say after that?"

"Double 'o' seven, flight double 'o' seven."

"Double 'o' seven, double 'o' seven...something, double 'o' seven...what?" Sherlock repeated, racking his brain for whatever couldn't come to him. "Double 'o' seven, double 'o' seven, what? What, something, what?"

While Sherlock was muttering to himself and trying to remember what was evading him, I noticed Irene sending a text behind her back. From what I could see, it was the information Sherlock had just told her, so I could only assume she was sending it to Jim. She did, however, looked guilty after she did so. I pursed my lips, my observation going unnoticed by her as her eyes were trained on Sherlock. It was definitely not good if she was developing feelings for Sherlock; not for the fact that she would renege on the deal because of her feelings, because I didn't think that she'd be the time to let her feelings sway her like that. It wasn't good because if Sherlock caught on and used it against her, she'd be a liability. And Jim didn't let liabilities exist.

I looked back to Sherlock; he had taken a seat, falling deep into his mind. I sighed.

"How long do you think he's going to be out this time?" I asked John.

"No idea. Never can tell."

"What do you mean?" Irene asked.

"He'll zone out for hours before coming to, usually starting to speak mid-sentence to Diana or me."

"Usually John, since he lives here and I'm usually out." I finished.

John looked at Sherlock, then back to us.

"I'm going to go out, text me if important things happen."

"Got it." I told him as he grabbed his jacket and headed down the stairs.

"Yeah, I'll leave you to it. I doubt he'll say anything for a while," I told her, heading towards the door. I paused, turning back to her. "Actually, join me out here for a second."

I curled a finger towards her, beckoning her towards the stairwell.

"So, I'm guessing you texted Jim." I lowered my voice just in case.

"I did."

"Then he should be texting Mycroft about it any second now. I'd just be on the defensive if I were you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Come on, Irene, don't play dumb. It's not becoming of you." I raised my hands in defense. "Look, I'm not trying to accuse you of anything. All I'm saying is you looked pretty guilty after you sent the text. If you have feelings for Sherlock, make sure he doesn't see them, because if he does you can be sure he'll find some way to use it against you. He doesn't do losing. And if you are found out and somehow stripped of your protection, Jim will be the first one to come after you. So be careful."

"I'm always careful."

"I'm sure you are," I continued. "But this game you're playing is a dangerous one. Don't be on the losing side."

I walked downstairs, planning on taking a nice long bath, but I was interrupted by my text alert.

**Come out with me. I feel like celebrating. – JM**

**I bet you do. What'd you have in mind? – DR**

**I think you know. – JM**

**Are you seriously booty texting me? – DR**

**Booty text? – JM**

**It's like a booty call, but via text. Normally they start with 'I'm bored', but now it's a 'let's celebrate'. – DR**

**Well then yes, it is a booty text. – JM **

**You are so bad sometimes. – DR**

**Yes, but you love it when I'm bad. – JM**

**Maybe I do. Give me an hour? – DR**

**I'll have the car there when you're ready. – JM**

I padded down to my room, not entirely sure what to make of the situation. I had never been booty called by a guy I was dating, so I wasn't entirely sure if there was some kind of protocol I should follow. Do I bring an overnight bag? How pretty should I get?

I groaned. Things were a lot simpler before this.

I pulled a random purple set out and changed into it, covering up with a black wrap dress. I threw some clothes into an overnight bag and hoped I wasn't being too presumptuous. I was finishing up my make up when my phone rang.

"Your car is ready, ma'am." I heard Griffiths say.

"You know, you could just say 'I'm here' instead of being so formal," I chuckled.

"Oh just get out here," He laughed.

I slipped into some heels and grabbed my coat and the overnight bag. Griffiths raised an eyebrow as I walked out.

"Oh shut up, you know very well where I'm going and why." I snapped, though there was no venom behind my words.

He just chuckled as he took my bag and put it in the trunk as I got in the car. I was happy that my friendship with Griffiths was getting more comfortable. He still called me ma'am, but he was speaking with me more freely. Sometimes it seemed like he was the only one who would tell it to me straight. Jim didn't lie to me, but sometimes it seemed he withheld things for my benefit.

It was weird when I walked into Jim's place. Everything was dark except for candles lining the ground. I started walking to the stairs when I felt a weird sensation on the pads of my feet, mixing with the hardwood flooring. I bent down and sifted my fingers through the stuff on the ground, picking one up and examining it as well as I could in the candlelight. It was a rose petal.

Holy mother of all…he had scattered rose petals on the stairs.

I made my way up the stairs, and I came face to face with Jim a mere two feet from his bedroom door.

"Hello, my Diana," he said, his voice deep and sending shivers down my spine.

"Jim, what is all of this?" I asked, gesturing behind me to the rose petals on the stairs.

"I told you, I want to celebrate."

"Yeah, but all this for a broken code?"

He smiled, "That's not all we're celebrating."

"So…what else are we celebrating?"

He just grinned, "I'm not going to tell you just yet. Are you hungry?"

"Uh, I don't know. A little."

"Well, we can eat later. Right now, the only thing I want to eat right now is you."

My words stuck in my throat, and I was only able to manage an, "Oh."

His eyes traveled down the length of my body. "You look very nice. Are you all dressed up for me?"

I nodded, still unable to manage coherent words.

He looked back at my eyes, his own black ones were smoldering. "Then I'm ready for my meal." He wrapped his hand around my wrist. "To the bedroom?"

I followed him into his room, noticing a bottle of red wine and two glasses on the nightstand next to his bed.

"Would you like a glass?" He asked, letting go of my wrist to open the bottle.

"Sure." I finally regained my tongue. "What're we drinking to?"

He smiled at me as he poured me a glass. "Multiple orgasms," was his suggestion.

I laughed at his brazenness. "I can drink to that."

"Good, because I plan on giving you as many as possible in the next day or so."

I smiled up at him. "Then let's get started."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: WARNING! This chapter is suuuuuper naughty. I blame cable tv. Skip if you're uncomfortable!**

* * *

"You know I hate surprises." I told him, sipping on the wine.

He smirked. "My dear Diana, don't you know I don't play by the rules. So, when are the multiple orgasms going to start?"

"How about now?" I undid the tie on my dress and slipped it off my shoulders.

Poor Jim looked like he forgot how to breathe.

"I thought you might like this." I purred.

"You look fucking amazing."

I felt a slight blush creep up my neck. "Thank you."

He stepped forward and kissed my newly exposed shoulder. "Just so you know, I'm going to fuck you all night long. I hope you're ready."

He picked me up and tossed me on the bed, and immediately began unbuttoning his white shirt.

"You look so beautiful, Diana." He whispered.

I watched as he methodically undressed in front of me, knowing he was taking his time to torment me. So, to tease him back, I let my hands drift to my lace covered breasts. My nipples were hard and straining against the material and I ran my fingernails against the hard tips.

"Jim, do you like it when I touch myself?"

"Fuck yes."

I smiled at him. "Do you know what I like?"

He paused taking off his shoes. "What, my dear?"

"How you use the word 'fuck' when you get excited. It makes me dripping wet for you."

Jim went back to his socks and shoes, never taking his eyes off me.

"Diana?"

"Yes?"

"I want you to touch yourself."

"I am."

"No, Diana. I want you to touch your pussy."

"Jim—"

"Do it, Diana," he cut off my protest. "I want to watch you. Get the box beside the nightstand and use what's inside."

My eyebrows furrowed, but I looked down by the nightstand and sure enough, there was a slim, rectangular black box on the ground in front of the nightstand. I opened it up, raising an eyebrow at the contents.

"Really, Jim? A vibrator?"

"I don't want any questions from you. I'm the one giving the orders here. You'll do it because I said to. Now put a fucking vibrator in your cunt."

So this is what we were going to play tonight. He was going to be dominant, sexy Jim and I was going to be submissive, demure Diana. I could see how dark his eyes were from the bed, and how hard his cock was, straining against the material of his underwear, knowing how unmoving he was in this. Fuck, I could hardly wait.

"Okay, Jim."

He smiled at me. "Good girl."

I reached over and pulled the thin, white vibrator out of the box and switched on the control at the bottom. Without taking my underwear off, I placed it on my clitoris and started to enjoy the vibrations. My eyes drifted closed and I continued to pluck at one of my nipples through my bra. Unlike the very few other times I had used a vibrator, this was completely different. My body was rolling in waves of pleasure and I couldn't contain my moans. The blood was rushing in my ears and I felt so good. I felt Jim sit down on the bed and peeled my underwear down my legs.

"You won't be needing those for the rest of the night," he said softly.

He took the vibrator from my hands, and placed it at my opening. He pushed it in and held it in place as I felt my inner walls start to collapse. His other hand massaged my clit through another orgasm before he lowered his mouth and started to drink. I could feel the liquid pouring from my body and heard the noises Jim was making as he slurped the juices up, but I didn't care. His free hand was holding my hips still, leaving me free to grasp at the bed sheets.

I realized too late I was still wearing my heels from earlier and was probably ripping Jim's sheets to shreds, but I didn't care. All I cared about was his tongue, and how long he could keep me in this constant state of orgasm. I could hear a wailing sound, but it took a minute to realize it was me making the noise. I was screaming; it felt so fucking good, but it was too much. He needed to stop, but if he did I didn't know if I could feel this good again. After my third orgasm, I felt Jim place a kiss on my clitoris and pull away. He removed the vibrator and turned it off, leaving it on the bed.

When he kissed me, I didn't pull away despite where he'd just been. There was no point in having limits with each other. I was in far too deep to care anyways. His tongue swept into my mouth and I kissed him back fiercely. My hands grasped his chocolate brown hair, pulling him closer to me. I could feel his erection rubbing against my hip.

"That was so fucking hot," he whispered against my cheek.

I didn't try to hide the dopey smile on my face. "That might have been the best orgasm of my life."

Jim grinned cockily. "I'm just getting started, Miss Remus. I promise that's the first of many."

I stretched lazily and looked up at him. "Has anyone ever died from being pleasured too much?"

He laughed. "I don't think so. Although if it's possible, I'm sure I'll be able to save your life."

I laughed. "You're so cocky."

"You're right about one thing." He ground his cock against me and moaned softly. "It feels like granite right now. Only you can get me this hard."

I took two of his fingers and led them back to my pussy. "Only you can get me this wet." Our fingers worked together, both of us able to hear how ready I was. "Fuck, Jim. That feels so damn good."

Jim swallowed a groan. "You're going to be the death of me, Diana."

My smile returned. "But what a way to go, don't you think?"

He kissed me again, taking his time to explore my mouth. His hand left my slick folds and came up to finger a nipple. "I want to see them. Take this off."

I sat up, not breaking the kiss and reached behind me to undo my bra and toss it across the room. "And the shoes?"

Jim glanced down, undoubtedly noticing the small tears already in the sheets from earlier.

"Those stay. Fucking sexy shoes. I want to feel them on my back while I'm fucking you."

"Kinky."

He growled at me. "You don't know half the things I want to do to you right now."

"You can do anything you want to me."

"Anything?"

I nodded. "Absolutely anything."

He kissed me hard on my lips, "Where have you been all my life?"

"Right here, Jim."

He grinned, "And now your arse is mine."

I snorted unattractively. "My _arse_ belongs to me."

"Do you want me to prove it to you? Because you know I will."

Suddenly I was excited again. The idea of a dominating Jim, taking me from behind? The image in my brain was too much to handle.

"Jim—"

He pulled my legs apart with one hand while reaching for the lotion that I hadn't even noticed before with the other. "You're wet, but not that wet. And I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll feel it next week."

"Fuck me?"

Jim nodded. "I told you, I'm going to fuck you all night long. And all day tomorrow too. You'll be lucky if you can walk when I'm done with you."

I couldn't breathe. "Fuck me."

His voice dropped and he traced my asshole with his finger. "That's right, love. I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to stuff you so full you won't ever feel empty again. Would you like that?"

"Oh God, Jim."

"Tut tut, Diana. God's not here now. Just me." He kissed me on the cheek briefly. "Get up on your hands and knees. I want your arse on display."

I did so without question. I could see myself in his closet mirrors, with Jim looming behind me.

"I'm going to punish you, Diana."

"For what?" I turned around to him as best as I could.

"For being such a naughty girl, Diana. And naughty girls need to be punished. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

He leaned forward and kissed my shoulder blade. "Red means stop."

"Okay."

/

Jim pulled back and studied the curve of her arse. Her hips flared nicely, leading to her thin legs. She was built for carrying children, and he found himself wondering if she ever wanted them. He flattened his hand and started rubbing the curve of her buttocks before pulling back and slapping her. He listened as she cried out. And then he did it again. Jim spanked her over and over again, her ass going from white, to pink, to bright red. Diana dropped her shoulders so her face was turned to the side and resting against a pillow. Tears leaked down her cheeks from the pain and pleasure, but she never asked him to stop. Her inner thighs were slick with moisture and he could hardly wait to sink into her balls deep.

"Fuck Jim!" She cried out.

He smiled internally, thankful that he had dismissed the staff for tonight.

"Diana?"

"Yes?"

"Have you had enough?"

She pushed herself up with her arms and looked at him. "Have I been punished enough?"

"I think so."

She nodded. "I need you to fuck me, Jim."

He swallowed roughly. His cock was throbbing, needing to be inside of her.

"Are you sure?"

She reached back and grabbed him by his shaft, pulling him forward.

"I want you in me so far, I feel it in my throat. Fuck me," she begged. "Put it inside of me, please. Before I die."

Jim grinned at her. "We can't let that happen, can we?"

"No," she sobbed.

He slipped in carefully, going slow. She was so wet she was dripping and it was fucking hot. Diana turned back around and repositioned herself on her hands and knees. Jim was behind her, his torso covering her back. He reached beneath her and started playing with her breasts.

"When I'm finished here, I want to come all over these."

"Anything you want." She shifted her hips back, trying to force him to move inside of her. He held still. "Will you fucking move?"

"I want you to beg, Diana."

"Please move your cock, Jim. Please. Fuck me, fuck me hard."

He pulled back again, before ramming back into her. "Like that?"

"Yes! Just like that. More."

Jim continued to thrust into her, increasing his tempo. He could hear his balls slapping against her skin, feel the heat coming off her ass from where he spanked her, and knew he was probably hurting her, but he didn't care. Diana wasn't complaining, so he continued to fuck her as hard as possible. He sat up on his knees, taking her hips in his hands to get better leverage.

"Touch your clit, love. Play with yourself."

She immediately moved her hand beneath her and started touching the oversensitive bud. Her inner walls were already squeezing his cock, but she wasn't quite there yet.

"Fuck me, Jim."

"I am," he ground out. He leaned over again, and latched onto to the back of her shoulder with his teeth. "I love fucking you, Diana. I love it more than anything. I want to fuck you every day. I can't wait to come inside of you. Your hot cunt around my hard cock, Diana. I'll never get enough of you."

"Oh fuck, Jim. I'm coming."

/

I felt my pussy clamp down tight on Jim's dick and I rubbed my clit furiously, not wanting the orgasm to stop. Through it all, he continued to thrust into me. After my largest release of the night, and then a smaller one, I collapsed under him. He continued to use my body, before finally roaring and sinking his teeth into my shoulder. When I felt him bite me, I had one more orgasm. Jim shook behind me, his body rigid with pleasure. He emptied what felt like a gallon of fluid inside of me, before collapsing on top of me. We stayed like that for at least two minutes, before he went to move.

"Stay," I murmured. "I like this."

"I'm too heavy."

"Don't care." I could feel my muscles shutting down and my body preparing itself for sleep. "Want you inside of me for as long as possible."

He kissed my cheek, before moving to spoon against me.

"You should sleep now. I'm not done with you yet."

I yawned. "I know. You said you would come on my tits."

Jim nodded and kissed my temple. He reached down and pulled the blanket over us. "Yes. And I want to know if those shoes will cut my back like I think they will."

"They will," I assured him, barely able keep my eyes open. "And my ass…"

He smoothed his hand over the curve of my ass. "Only if you want to, Diana."

I smiled as I drifted off. "Every part of me belongs to you, Jim. Even my ass."

And I fell into a dreamless sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: So close to being caught up! Aaagh! I'm actually excited.**

**caitysays: Diana told Irene she was dating Jim because she wanted to make sure Irene understood she knew what she was talking about. Irene wouldn't tell Sherlock because Diana and Jim would know who did and come after her. Irene's sense of self-preservation is too strong for that. I hope I cleared it up for you!**

**unicornmagik: Haha, don't worry, I'm not that mean. The 'for now' is in this chapter, but it's justified. Fear not, m'dear!**

* * *

Jim crawled off the bed as soon as she had fallen asleep. He pulled an armchair from its normal place at the window over to the bed, sitting in it as he watched Diana sleep.

It was all slightly remarkable.

She was his. He could do what he wanted with her. That was his story and he was sticking to it. But for all his swagger and all his bravado, he was drawn to her. To her power and to her mind. The fact she was beautiful with both class and taste just made the situation even better.

She had become an addiction. He craved every part of her, relishing the long nights wrapped in silk sheets, heated flesh moving against heated flesh. Soft moans and sighs under candlelight.

It had started in the way he had expected, but he didn't expect anything more from it. To feel more than his usual obsessions. His need was great and she fed that need.

But Jim refused to call it love. It wasn't love. It couldn't be love. So long as he didn't acknowledge it, it didn't exist. Jim Moriarty was not capable.

_Yes you are_. A nagging voice came from the back of his mind. _You helped her under the pretense of not owing her anymore. You knew you didn't owe her anything; you just wanted to do it. You've romanced her, taken her to Venice; you've done more for her than any of your previous conquests. She's different and you know it._

He shook his head, clearing it of the contradictory thoughts.

"You're watching her sleep?" He heard a familiar voice come from the doorway to his bedroom.

Jim turned his head, looking at Sebastian, who was leaning against the doorframe and chewing a bite he had taken out of the sandwich in his hand.

"What are you doing here?" Jim asked wearily.

"I just dropped by to get some food. My kitchen's all out. I saw all the stuff on the stairs and got curious. I put out the candles for you, by the way. Figured you wouldn't want your place burning down.

"Thanks."

Sebastian looked over to Diana's sleeping form. Jim was glad he had covered her up.

"Why does she look small?" Sebastian asked.

"She is small."

"No, she looks smaller when she's asleep. Why is that?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't know. I hadn't noticed. Maybe because she's vulnerable. You think that makes her small?"

Sebastian mimicked the shrug, moving into the room and leaning against a dresser. Jim looked back at Diana, sighing softly as he studied her sleeping form.

"Are you okay?

"I want to give her things," Jim said softly.

Sebastian couldn't tell if he's confused, annoyed, or fascinated.

"Like?"

Jim thought for a moment, his brow wrinkling as Diana shifted slightly in her sleep.

"Continents," he said finally. "Oceans. Species. Everything in the world and more."

"How long?"

"How long what?"

"Since you've fallen for her?"

John sighed, rubbing the palms of his hands against his temples, "I almost told her tonight."

"That you care for her."

"That I love her."

Sebastian was taken aback. There were very few times when Jim used the word 'love'. Sebastian could count on one hand how many times he'd heard the word come out of Jim's mouth.

"You…love her?"

"I think. I don't really know what it feels like."

"And you're unhappy with loving her?"

"It's not like me. I don't feel. I'm never confused."

"And now that she's here, you are."

"Yes."

Sebastian sighed, walking over to Jim and putting his hand on his shoulder.

"Can I give some friendly advice?"

"If you must."

"Stop worrying so much, Jim."

Jim scoffed, "Easy for you to say."

"And easy for you to do. I mean, come on, look at the things you two have done. You trust her completely, which you don't do easily and far less so with women. You just have to stop worrying about the 'what if' and keep enjoying her company. You'll be able to tell her when the time is right."

"Yes, but what if someone finds out and tries to hurt her?"

"Jim, think about it: you, me and Griffiths are all looking out for her. We all want to make sure she's safe. I don't think anything could get past the three of us."

Jim nodded, though his face showed he wasn't entirely convinced.

"Just try to relax," Sebastian said, patting his friend's back as he walked off. "If you stress about it too much, you'll only end up pushing her away."

/

I stayed over most nights, going home every so often to get new clothes and make sure John and Sherlock knew I was still alive, though mostly John since Sherlock was often preoccupied with one case or another.

Jim started to get distracted after a few days, and things got tense when I walked past the dining room and saw Jim and Sebastian leaning over a mass amounts of documents. I had never actually been inside the dining room. We didn't eat in there, and it's where Jim conducted his business. Only Sebastian looked up when I walked in the door.

"What's going on in here?" I asked.

Jim didn't answer; he was too heavily focused on the papers in front of him.

"We're, uh, we're trying to figure out the best way for Mycroft's men to capture Jim without making it seem too obvious." Sebastian told me.

I was completely taken aback.

"What the fuck? Why on earth would you do that?"

Again, Jim didn't answer.

"He wants information on Sherlock," Sebastian offered.

"Well, why don't you just ask me?" I was thoroughly confused. Wasn't that why Jim had come to me in the first place?

"I don't want you involved." Jim finally spoke, not looking up from his papers.

"Uh, I'm already involved. That's why you came to me in the first place, remember?" I spoke what I was thinking, my voice raising slightly. "And now you're going to do something absolutely stupid for information? Are you mental?"

"Sebastian, get her out of here," Jim's tone was cold.

"Excuse me?" I was definitely pissed.

Jim finally looked up, his eyes weary and shielded, as if her were hiding something from me. "I need to plan."

"No, you know what, fine. I'll leave." My tone was icy, "And when you decide to stop being such an asshole, you know where to find me."

With that, I grabbed my coat and bag, walking out the door to go back to Baker Street.

/

"Well that was nicely handled," Sebastian said sarcastically as Diana slammed the door behind her.

"It was necessary," was Jim's only response.

"Did nothing I said to you that night make any difference?"

"What are you talking about, Sebastian?" Jim's voice was distracted, weary.

"You were being awful to her just now. Are you seriously trying to push her away?"

"For the time being."

"God, Jim. You're a piece of work." Sebastian's tone made it clear he didn't mean that as a compliment.

Jim tore himself away from the papers to look up at Sebastian.

"Moran, I'm currently planning my capture. Do you really think I'd put Diana at risk because of her connection to me?"

"Well, I – "

"Don't look at the big picture," Jim finished for him. "If she's taken in as well, they'll use everything against her, maybe even torture her, for information on me. I'm sure as hell not going to let that happen. So if I have to let her be mad at me for a couple weeks to keep her safe, so be it."

Sebastian was slightly stunned, but regained use of his tongue moments later, "A few weeks."

"That's my best guess on how long they'll keep me. Any more than two and I want you to move her in here to keep her safe. By then they'll have stopped looking for any outside connection to me."

Sebastian paused, testing his words carefully, "Boss, are you sure about this?"

Jim sighed, "I need both information on Sherlock and for Diana to be safe. This is the only way I can think of to do both."

/

I spent the next two weeks at Baker Street, not hearing a word from Jim in any of that time. I was desperate for Sherlock to get a case so I could be distracted, and Sherlock was just as desperate. Poor John was at his wits end trying to keep both of us entertained. One afternoon I was returning from the bookstore in attempt to find something to keep my mind from wandering to Jim and found Sebastian leaning against his car right outside the flat.

"Sebastian, what are you doing here?" I asked, walking up to him.

"Boss got taken in a couple weeks ago." He told me.

I sighed angrily, "He actually did it? God, that's so stupid. He could've just asked me!"

"He doesn't want to involve you in this."

"I'm already involved, I've said it before." I lowered my voice, "I live downstairs from Sherlock and I'm dating Jim. That sounds pretty damn involved to me."

"He just wanted to keep you safe."

I scoffed.

"He does." Sebastian said firmly. "That's actually why I'm here. Boss wants me to move you in to his place."

"I – what?"

"He thinks you'll be safer there."

"That doesn't make any sense. No one knows about us."

"That's not confirmed. If you had been around when he was taken in they definitely would have. You might've been taken in and even tortured to get information on him. It's why he was being an ass."

"Well couldn't he have just told me?"

Sebastian gave me a knowing look, "Would you have left if he did."

"No," I said reluctantly. "Probably not."

He chuckled, "No, probably not…"

His voice trailed off as his eyes widened in shock. I followed his line of sight and saw Sherlock walking back towards the flat, carrying a harpoon and covered in way too much blood to be his own.

"What the – " I cut myself off, turning to Sebastian quickly. "I've got to go."

"But – "

"I'll text you later!" I interrupted, following Sherlock into the flat.

"Sherlock, what in the name of all things holy happened?" I asked as I followed him up the stairs.

He didn't answer me, making his way up to his flat and banging the bottom of the bloodied harpoon on the floor.

"Well that was tedious," he ground out.

I delicately slipped into the flat's living room from behind him, not wanting to get whomever's blood on my clothes.

"You went on the tube like that?" John asked, looking up from the laptop he was typing on.

"None of the cabs would take me," Sherlock said angrily as he walked back to his room.

"I wonder why," I muttered to John, walking over and sitting in the seat opposite to him.

"I heard that!" Sherlock yelled.

"You were meant to!"

When he finally reemerged from his room, blood-free and wearing fresh clothes, he reclaimed his harpoon and began pacing around the room. John and I exchanged glances; we knew exactly what that meant. We each grabbed parts of the newspaper and began to flick though it, looking for anything to distract Sherlock. I was slightly grateful for his need for a case, as I needed a distraction as well.

"Nothing?" he asked impatiently.

"Military coup in Uganda." I offered

"Hmm." He muttered, turning down the idea.

John began to chuckle as he saw something in his section of the papers.

"Another photo of you with the, er ..."

He pointed to a photograph of Sherlock wearing the deerstalker hat. Sherlock wrinkled his nose and made a noise of disapproval. We kept looking through the newspapers.

"Oh, um, Cabinet reshuffle."

"Nothing of importance?" Sherlock was getting angry. He slammed the end of the harpoon down, emitting what I could only describe as a roar of frustration. "Oh, God!"

He turned his gaze to John.

"John, I need some. Get me some."

"No." John replied calmly.

"Get me some." Sherlock repeated with more intensity.

"No." John said louder, pointing at Sherlock. "Cold turkey, we agreed, no matter what."

Sherlock leaned the harpoon against the table, starting to flounce with irritation.

"Anyway, you've paid everyone off, remember?" I added. "No-one within a two mile radius will sell you any."

"Stupid idea. Whose idea was that?"

John cleared his throat pointedly. It was his idea to get Sherlock off the cigarettes and nicotine patches. We had implemented the plan about four days ago after forcibly convincing Sherlock to go along with it. However, it was apparently doing more harm than good because Sherlock was becoming unbearable.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled towards the door.

He began hurling paperwork off the table as he continued to search desperately for any kind of nicotine product.

"Look, Sherlock, you're doing really well. Don't give up now." John told him.

"Tell me where they are. Please. Tell me." Sherlock pleaded in his own way, still hurling papers around.

When John remained silent, Sherlock straightens up and then turned to me, his eyes softening into a puppy-dog gaze. He pouted a few moments before speaking.

"Please." He practically whimpered.

"Don't give in," John encouraged.

"I'm not going to give in, puppy dog eyes don't work on me. I practically invented them." I retorted, turning from John to Sherlock. "Sorry, but I can't help you."

"I'll let you know next week's lottery numbers." He said, his face slipping back to his normal expression.

We laughed. He was ridiculous.

"Oh, it was worth a try."

He looked around the room before latching his gaze on the fireplace. Whatever flash of inspiration he had sent him diving onto the floor in front of the fireplace. He began rummaging around the discarded papers and managed to unearth a slipper, but nothing that interested him. He threw the slipper over his head as Mrs. Hudson came into the room.

"Yoohoo," She called happily, until she saw the mess within the room.

"My secret supply; what have you done with my secret supply?" He demanded, not even looking up.

"Eh?" She asked, confused.

"Cigarettes! What have you done with them? Where are they?"

"You know you never let me touch your things!" She looked around the room. "Ooh, chance would be a fine thing."

"I thought you weren't my housekeeper." Sherlock said as he stood up.

"I'm not." She replied.

Sherlock growled in frustration as he stomped back over to the harpoon and picked it up again. Mrs. Hudson looked down at John and me, John mimed for her to offer Sherlock a drink.

"How about a nice cuppa, and perhaps you could put away your harpoon." She said to Sherlock as he grabbed the harpoon again.

"I need something stronger than tea. Seven per cent stronger."

He glared out the window before whipping back towards, Mrs. Hudson, aiming the harpoon at her. Naturally, she flinched as he did so.

"You've been to see Mr. Chatterjee again." Sherlock said quickly, beginning to study her.

"Pardon?"

"Sandwich shop. That's a new dress, but there's flour on the sleeve." He said, pointing it out with the harpoon tip. "You wouldn't dress like that for baking."

"Sherlock ..." John warned.

"Thumbnail, tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where that leads, don't we?" He sniffed deeply, drawing the harpoon away from her. "Mmm, Kasbah Nights. Pretty racy for first thing on a Monday morning, wouldn't you agree? I've written a little blog on the identification of perfumes. It's on the website – you should look it up."

"Please." Mrs. Hudson interjected, exasperated.

"I wouldn't pin your hopes on that cruise with Mr. Chatterjee. He's got a wife in Doncaster that nobody knows about."

"Sherlock!" John and I chastised in near unison.

"Well, nobody except me." Sherlock finished.

"I don't know what you're talking about, I really don't." Mrs. Hudson replied, clearly upset.

She stormed out of the flat, slamming the living room door closed as she goes. Sherlock leapt over the back of the chair I was sitting on and perched behind me, like child or an owl. I looked at John incredulously and he slammed his newspaper down.

"What the bloody hell was all that about?" He asked.

"You don't understand." Sherlock replied, beginning to rock back and forth, nudging me with his knees.

"Go after her and apologize." John continued.

"Apologize?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Oh, John, I envy you so much."

"Yeah, me too," I muttered as I swatted Sherlock's knees, getting up and grabbing a chair at the table and bringing it over to the fireplace. John hesitated after Sherlock's comment. He waited until I sat down to rise to the bait, probably to use me as back-up.

"You envy me?"

"Your mind: it's so placid, straightforward, barely used. Mine's like an engine, racing out of control; a rocket tearing itself to pieces trapped on the launch pad. I need a case!"

"You've just solved one! By harpooning a dead pig, apparently!" John exclaimed.

With an exasperated noise, Sherlock leapt up and landed in the seated position on his chair.

"That was this morning!"

He began to fidget wildly, drumming his fingers on the armrests and stomping on the floor.

"When's the next one?" Sherlock asked.

"Is there nothing on the website?" I asked.

Sherlock got up and walked over to the table, picking up his laptop and handing it to John. I leaned over John's shoulder to read along.

"Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock narrated. "I can't find Bluebell anywhere. Please please please can you help?"

"Bluebell?" John asked.

"A rabbit, John!" Sherlock replied, irritated.

"Oh."

"Ah, but there's more! Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous 'like a fairy'..." he pitched the last three words higher to mimic the little girl, "according to little Kirsty; then the next morning, Bluebell was gone! Hutch still locked, no sign of a forced entry ..." He paused, his expression fading into something more intense. "Ah! What am I saying? This is brilliant! Phone Lestrade. Tell him there's an escaped rabbit."

"Wait, are you serious?" I asked.

"It's this, or Cluedo." Sherlock threatened.

"No!" John and I both exclaimed.

John closed the laptop and got up to put it on the table.

"We are never playing that again!" John told him.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked.

"Because it's not actually possible for the victim to have done it. That's why." I responded.

"Well, it was the only possible solution."

"It's not in the rules." John replied, sitting back down.

"Then the rules are wrong!"

We were interrupted, thankfully, by the doorbell ringing. John held up a finger thoughtfully as Sherlock looked towards the living room door.

"Single ring." John said.

"Maximum pressure just under the half second." Sherlock continued.

"Client." They said simultaneously.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Now we're at Baskerville, yay! No Moriarty in this chapter for obvious reasons, but he'll be back sooooon!**

**88dragon06: No, she's not going to just move in like that, but something will change her mind. It'll come next chapter I think.  
**

**unicornmagik: Me too! I'm really enjoying changing her character up ever so slightly between the two stories!  
**

* * *

Sherlock took off the dressing gown he had been wearing and threw on a jacket as John walked up with the client, a rather nervous looking man. He had brought along a video that he wanted us to watch. It would apparently help explain why he was here. He sat in John's chair while Sherlock sat in his, and John and I were at the table.

"Dartmoor. It's always been a place of myth and legend, but is there something else lurking out here – something very real?" The presenter said, as the images showed various parts of the town. "Because Dartmoor's also home to one of the government's most secret of operations: the chemical and biological weapons research center which is said to be even more sensitive than Porton Down. Since the end of the Second World War, there've been persistent stories about the Baskerville experiments: genetic mutations, animals grown for the battlefield. There are many who believe that within this compound, in the heart of this ancient wilderness, there are horrors beyond imagining. But the real question is: are all of them still inside?"

The footage then turned to Henry being interviewed, a caption at the bottom of the screen labeling him 'Henry Knight, Grimpen resident'.

"I was just a kid. It-it was on the moor." The video version of Henry said as the image cut to a child's drawing of a huge snarling dog with red eyes. The caption said Henry's drawing (aged 9). "It was dark, but I know what I saw. I know what killed my father."

Sherlock sighed and switched off the video, turning to Henry, "What did you see?"

" Oh." Henry pointed to the screen. "I ... I was just about to say."

"Yes, in a TV interview. I prefer to do my own editing."

"Yes. Sorry, yes, of course. 'Scuse me." He replied, pulling out a paper napkin and wiping his nose on it.

"In your own time." John said gently.

"But quite quickly." Sherlock interjected.

"Do you know Dartmoor, Mr. Holmes?" Henry asked, lowering the napkin.

"No."

"It's an amazing place. It's like nowhere else. It's sort of ... bleak but beautiful."

"Mmm, not interested. Moving on."

"We used to go for walks, after my mum died, my dad and me. Every evening we'd go out onto the moor."

"Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed. Where did that happen?"

John and I exchanged a look. Sherlock was in a bad mood and was definitely getting snappy.

"There's a place – it's... it's a sort of local landmark called Dewer's Hollow." He paused, but when he got no reply he continued. "That's an ancient name for the Devil."

"So?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Did you see the Devil that night?" John asked.

Henry nodded, his face growing haunted, "Yes. It was huge. Coal-black fur, with red eyes. It got him, tore at him, tore him apart. I can't remember anything else. They found me the next morning, just wandering on the moor. My dad's body was never found."

"Hmm." John looked at Sherlock. "Red eyes, coal-black fur, enormous; dog? Wolf?"

"Or a genetic experiment." I muttered, attempting not to smile.

Sherlock and I caught each other's' gaze and had to look away, fearing we'd laugh.

"Are you laughing at me, Mr. Holmes?" Henry asked.

"Why, are you joking?" Sherlock asked.

"My dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville; about the type of monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at him. At least the TV people took me seriously."

"And, I assume, did wonders for Devon tourism."

"Yeah ..." John muttered, leaning forward to cut off Sherlock's sarcasm. "Henry, whatever did happen to your father, it was twenty years ago. Why come to us now?"

Henry leaned forward, locking eyes with Sherlock.

"I'm not sure you can help me, Mr. Holmes, since you find it all so funny." Henry said, standing up and heading towards the door.

"Because of what happened last night." Sherlock stopped him.

"Why, what happened last night?" John asked.

"How ... how do you know?" Henry stuttered.

"I didn't know; I noticed."

John rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, and expression of 'Oh dear lord, here we go' coming across his face. I just smiled. I had kind of missed Sherlock's deductions of strangers. It wasn't Jim's thing, and I had gotten used to him being cuddly with me.

"You came up from Devon on the first available train this morning. You had a disappointing breakfast and a cup of black coffee. The girl in the seat across the aisle fancied you. Although you were initially keen, you've now changed your mind. You are, however, extremely anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down, Mr. Knight, and do please smoke. I'd be delighted." Sherlock said, quick as a flash.

Henry stared at him before glancing to John and me. John sighed and looked away, and I merely shrugged. Hesitantly, Henry sat back in the chair and began rummaging through his pockets.

"How on earth did you notice all that?" He asked.

"It's not important ..." John began.

"Punched-out holes where your ticket's been checked." Sherlock cut him off.

"Not now, Sherlock." John scolded slightly.

"Oh please. I've been cooped up in here for ages."

"You're just showing off."

"Of course. I am a show-off. That's what we do." He turned his attention back to Henry. "The train napkin that you used to mop up the spilled coffee, the strength of the stain shows that you didn't take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it and round your lips and on your sleeve. Cooked breakfast – or the nearest thing those trains can manage. Probably a sandwich."

"How did you know it was disappointing?" Henry asked, half-sobbing.

"Is there any other type of breakfast on a train?" Sherlock shrugged. "The girl – female handwriting's quite distinctive. Wrote her phone number down on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she was sat across from you on the other side of the aisle. Later – after she got off, I imagine – you used the napkin to mop up your spilled coffee, accidentally smudging the numbers. You've been over the last four digits yourself with another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now, though, you used the napkin to blow your nose. Maybe you're not that into her after all. Then there's the nicotine stains on your fingers ... your shaking fingers. I know the signs. No chance to smoke one on the train; no time to roll one before you got a cab here." Sherlock glanced at his watch. "It's just after nine fifteen. You're desperate. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at five forty-six a.m. You got the first one possible, so something important must have happened last night. Am I wrong?"

Henry just stared at him for a moment, amazed, before shakily replying, "No."

Sherlock smiled smugly as John took a drink from his mug to hide his 'oh bugger it' look. I rolled my eyes, but grinned nonetheless.

"You're right." Henry said, astonished. "You're completely, exactly right. Bloody hell, I heard you were quick."

"It's my job." Sherlock replied, leaning forward and glaring at Henry. "Now shut up and smoke."

I rolled my eyes once more and John frowned. As Henry lit the roll-up cigarette he had brought with him, John looked at the notes he had taken.

"Um, Henry, your parents both died and you were, what, seven years old?"

Henry didn't answer as he was taking his first drag on his cigarette. As he exhaled, Sherlock stood up and crept towards him.

"I know. That ... my ..."

He trailed off as Sherlock leaned into the smoke drifting up from the cigarette and breathed in deeply. When he had sucked in most of the smoke, he sat down again and breathed out, whining quietly in pleasure.

"That must be a ... quite a trauma." John said, trying to ignore Sherlock. "Have you ever thought that maybe you invented this story, this ..."

We were once again distracted as Henry exhaled another lungful of smoke, Sherlock diving in to suck in the smoke again. John paused until he sat down again.

"...to account for it?"

"That's what Doctor Mortimer says." Henry said, dragging his eyes away from Sherlock.

"Who?" John asked.

"His therapist." Sherlock said as Henry answered the same simultaneously. "Obviously." He continued.

"Louise Mortimer." Henry explained. "She's the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my demons."

"And what happened when you went back to Dewer's Hollow last night, Henry? You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you're consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?" Sherlock asked.

"It's a strange place, the Hollow." Henry began, darkly. "Makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Yes, if I wanted poetry, I'd read John's emails to his girlfriends. Much funnier." John rolled his eyes.

"What did you see?" Sherlock pressed.

"Footprints – on the exact spot where I saw my father torn apart."

Sherlock leaned back in his seat, sighing in exasperation.

"Man's or a woman's?" John asked.

"Neither." Henry began. "They were ..."

"Is that it?" Sherlock interrupted. "Nothing else. Footprints. Is that all?"

"Yes, but they were ..."

"No, sorry, Doctor Mortimer wins." Sherlock cut him off again. "Childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring! Goodbye, Mr. Knight. Thank you for smoking."

"No, but what about the footprints?" Henry asked.

"Oh, they're probably paw prints; could be anything, therefore nothing." Sherlock leaned forward in his seat and waved Henry off to the door. "Off to Devon with you; have a cream tea on me."

Sherlock stood up, buttoning his jacket, and walked into the kitchen. Henry turned in his seat to look at him.

"Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!" He called after him.

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks, slowly turning and walking back to the living room.

"Say that again." He demanded.

"I found the footprints; they were ..."

"No, no, no, your exact words. Repeat your exact words from a moment ago, exactly as you said them."

"Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic ... hound." Henry repeated slowly.

"I'll take the case." Sherlock told him.

"Sorry, what?" John asked.

"No offense," I told Henry before turning to Sherlock, "but you're not actually serious, are you?"

Sherlock didn't answer, instead beginning to pace slowly across the living room.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It's very promising." he told Henry.

"No-no-no, sorry, what?" John interjected. "A minute ago, footprints were boring; now they're very promising?"

"It's nothing to do with footprints." Sherlock replied as he stopped pacing. "As ever, John, you weren't listening. Baskerville: ever heard of it?"

"Vaguely. It's very hush-hush."

"Sounds like a good place to start."

"Ah! You'll come down, then?" Henry asked, relieved.

"No, I can't leave London at the moment." Sherlock answered. "Far too busy. Don't worry – putting my best man onto it." He walked over to John and patted his shoulder. "Always rely on John to send me the relevant data, as he never understands a word of it himself."

"What are you talking about, you're busy?" John questioned. "You don't have a case! A minute ago you were complaining ..."

"Bluebell, John! I've got Bluebell!" Sherlock interrupted. "The case of the vanishing, glow-in-the-dark rabbit! NATO's in uproar." He finished, looking at Henry.

"Oh, sorry, no, you're not coming, then?" Henry asked, confused.

Sherlock donned a regretful, semi-pouting expression that just reeked of sarcasm. John groaned.

"Okay." He said as he stood up. Sherlock grinned as he did so. "Okay."

John walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up the skull, taking the packet of cigarettes from underneath it. He turned and tossed the packet across to Sherlock as he put the skull down. Sherlock caught the packet and immediately tossed it over his shoulder.

"I don't need those any more. I'm going to Dartmoor." He walked out of the living room. "You go on ahead, Henry. We'll follow later."

"Er, sorry, so you are coming?" Henry scrambled to his feet.

Sherlock and turned to the back of the room. "Twenty year old disappearance; a monstrous hound? I wouldn't miss this for the world!"

I walked down to my flat, calling Sebastian as I packed.

"Hey Diana, should I come and pick you up?" He asked immediately after he answered the call.

"Yeah, about that. I'm actually going to Dartmoor for a few days."

"What? But Jim said –"

"Jim wants me to be safe. I highly doubt anyone's going to follow me all the way to Dartmoor to get me if they haven't done so while I was here. I'm going to be fine."

"You don't know that."

"Sebastian, I'm a big girl. I know how to take care of myself. I'll be fine."

I heard him sigh on the other end, "On your head be it."

I snorted, "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

It was only a half hour later that we were putting our bags in the taxi. I hoped we wouldn't be there for more than a few days, because I had only packed enough clothes for that amount of time. As John put our bags in the trunk and Sherlock held the door open for us, our attention was caught by Mrs. Hudson yelling at Mr. Chatterjee inside Speedy's.

"... cruise together. You had no intention of taking me on it ..." we could hear her yelling faintly.

She threw something at the closed door, bouncing heavily off the glass.

"Oh! Looks like Mrs Hudson finally got to the wife in Doncaster." John mused.

"Mmm. Wait 'til she finds out about the one in Islamabad."

John and I sniggered as the three of us got into the taxi.

"Paddington Station, please." Sherlock instructed the driver.

Hours later we were seated in a large black Land Rover jeep, Sherlock as our driver as we made our way to Grimpen Village. We were probably about twenty miles out when he pulled over, dragging John and I out of the car to venture on the moors. Sherlock stood on a large stone outcrop, reminding me greatly of Caspar Friedrich's painting Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog, as John and I stood the foot of it consulting a map. John pointed ahead of us at a large array of buildings in the distance.

"There's Baskerville." John said. He turned and pointed behind us. "That's Grimpen Village."

I looked back at the map, checking for the name of the heavily wooded area to the left of the Baskerville complex.

"So that must be ... yeah, it's Dewer's Hollow." I intidacted.

Sherlock pointed to an area in between the complex and the Hollow. "What's that?"

"Hmm?" John hummed as he lifted the binoculars around his neck. "Minefield? Technically Baskerville's an army base, so I guess they've always been keen to keep people out."

"Clearly." Sherlock agreed.

When we finally arrived in Grimpen Village, we pulled into a parking area in front of the Cross Keys inn. There was a group of tourists lead by a young man walking towards the entrance of the inn's pub. AS we walked by, we could hear him speaking to the group.

"... three times a day, tell your friends. Tell anyone!" He said. "Don't be strangers, and remember ... stay away from the moor at night if you value your lives!"

Sherlock pulled his overcoat around him as we walked towards the pub, popping the collar. John looked round at him pointedly.

"I'm cold." Sherlock said, attempting nonchalance.

I rolled my eyes as we walked into the pub; Sherlock immediately began prowling the pub for reasons only known to him. John checked us in at the bar and I ordered some chips, because I was dumb and didn't eat before we left. The manager and barman, who introduced himself as Gary, handed him our keys.

"Eh, sorry we couldn't do a double room for you boys."

"That's fine. We-we're not ..." John attempted to protest.

John saw the smug smile on Gary's face and gave up. I tried not to choke on my laugh.

"There you go." John said, giving him money for his drink and my chips.

"Oh, ta. I'll just get your change."

"Ta."

"Thanks, John." I said to him.

"No problem," he said, his voice slightly trailing off.

I followed his line of sight down to a pile of receipts and invoices which have been punched onto a spike on the bar. The one on top was labeled 'Undershaw Meat Supplies'. Weird, because this was a vegetarian pub. John quickly ripped it from the spike, putting it into his pocket as Gary came back with his change.

"There you go." Gary said as he returned, handing the change to John.

"I couldn't help noticing on the map of the moor, a skull and crossbones." I mentioned to Gary.

"Oh that, aye." He replied vaguely.

"Pirates?" I asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Eh, no, no. The Great Grimpen Minefield, they call it."

"Oh, right."

"It's not what you think. It's the Baskerville testing site. It's been going for eighty-odd years. I'm not sure anyone really knows what's there anymore."

"Explosives?" John asked.

"Oh, not just explosives." Gary answered. "Break into that place and – if you're lucky – you just get blown up, so they say ... in case you're planning on a nice wee stroll."

"Ta. I'll remember."

"Aye. No, it buggers up tourism a bit, so thank God for the demon hound!" He chuckled. "Did you see that show, that documentary?"

"Quite recently, yeah."

"Aye. God bless Henry Knight and his monster from hell."

"Have you ever seen it? The hound, I mean." I asked.

"Me? No." He said, pointing out the door where the tour guide was standing, talking on his phone to someone. "Fletcher has. He runs the walks – the Monster Walks for the tourists, you know? He's seen it."

"That's handy for trade." John noted.

Gary turned to a man who, by the way he was dressed, was clearly the inn's cook who has just arrived behind the bar. "I'm just saying we've been rushed off our feet, Billy."

"Yeah. Lots of monster-hunters. Doesn't take much these days. One mention on Twitter and oomph." Billy said, turning to Gary. "We're out of WKD."

I wrinkled my nose at the mention. I had tried WKD only once and it wasn't that pleasant. It was a brand of alcopop that trendy young men usually drank. I'd take battery acid over it any day.

"All right." Gary told him, walking behind the bar.

Billy turned to John. "What with the monster and that ruddy prison, I don't know how we sleep nights. Do you, Gary?"

Gary placed a hand on Billy's shoulder and looks at him affectionately. "Like a baby."

"That's not true." Billy said, looking back at John. "He's a snorer."

"Hey, wheesht!" Gary said, embarrassed, trying to get Billy to stop talking.

"Is yours a snorer?" Billy asked John, clearly implying Sherlock.

"... Got any crisps?" John asked, avoiding the question.

"Nice of you to bring your sister along, though," Billy mused.

I definitely did snort at that. "I'm not his sister, though he should take that as a compliment."

I nudged John, who laughed in embarrassment.

"Yeah, and he's not mine, he's, uh..," John trailed off, the hint of embarrassment still in his voice.

"Married to his work," I finished for him.

"Oh," Billy said, nodding.

I shook my head slightly, turning to John, "Go call Henry."

"Right," John said, walking off and pulling out his phone.

I turned back to Billy. "Boys," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Tell me about it," He agreed.

I followed John out of the pub as he hung up his conversation with Henry. We made our way to Sherlock, who was seated at one of the outside tables, talking to Fletcher.

"I called Henry ..." John started.

"Bet's off, John, sorry." Sherlock said, speaking over him.

"What?" John asked as he and I sat down.

"Bet?" Fletcher asked.

"My plan needs darkness." Sherlock said, looking at his watch and then to the sky. "Reckon we've got another half an hour of light ..."

"Wait, wait. What bet?" Fletcher interjected.

"Oh, I bet John here fifty quid that you couldn't prove you'd seen the hound." Sherlock replied.

"Yeah, the guys in the pub said you could." John said, catching on immediately.

Fletcher smiled and pointed to Sherlock. "Well, you're gonna lose your money, mate."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I've seen it. Only about a month ago, up at the Hollow. It was foggy, mind – couldn't make much out."

"I see. No witnesses, I suppose."

"No, but ..."

"Never are."

"Wait ..." He pulled up a picture on his phone. "There."

"Is that it? It's not exactly proof, is it?" Sherlock scoffed.

Fletcher showed the photo to John and me, probably hoping for affirmation. In the picture, there was an extremely blurry dark-furred four-legged something but, with the distance and quality of the picture, it was impossible to tell the size – or even the species – of the animal.

"Sorry, John. I win."

He picked up a drink that I didn't even know he had ordered and acted as if he was going to drink from it, although he never did.

"Wait, wait. That's not all." Fletcher interjected. "People don't like going up there, you know – to the Hollow. Gives them a ... bad sort of feeling."

"Ooh! Is it haunted?" Sherlock asked sarcastically, putting the glass down. "Is that supposed to convince me?"

"Nah, don't be stupid, nothing like that, but I reckon there is something out there – something from Baskerville, escaped."

"A clone, a super-dog?" Sherlock sniggered.

"Maybe. God knows what they've been spraying on us all these years, or putting in the water. I wouldn't trust 'em as far as I could spit."

"Is that the best you've got?" Sherlock asked, indicating the picture with a nod of his head.

Fletcher hesitated for moment, bust continued in a low voice, "I had a mate once who worked for the MOD. One weekend we were meant to go fishin' but he never showed up – well, not 'til late. When he did, he was white as a sheet. I can see him now. I've seen things today, Fletch, he said, that I never wanna see again. Terrible things. He'd been sent to some secret Army place – Porton Down, maybe, maybe Baskerville, or somewhere else." He leaned closer. "In the labs there – the really secret labs, he said he'd seen ... terrible things. Rats as big as dogs, he said, and dogs ..." He reached into his bag and pulls something out to show us. "... dogs the size of horses."

He was holding a concrete cast of a dog's paw print, but the print was abnormally large, at least six inches long from the tip of the claws to the back of the pad. We stared at it in surprise, and John wasted no time pouncing on his win.

"Er, we did say fifty?"

Fletcher smiled triumphantly as Sherlock took out his wallet and handed John a fifty pound note.

"Ta." John thanked him.

Sherlock got up, obviously sulking, and walked away. John and I finished our drink and chips respectively and followed him.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: I miscounted my chapters, the reason Diana decides to move in with Jim is in the NEXT chapter. Sorry for those of you who were waiting to read it. I'll try to have it out sometime later today.**

**88dragon06: No, no one followed her. And as for Jim's reaction...you'll have to wait and seeee.  
**

* * *

Sherlock walked us straight for the car, and John and I entered without question. We didn't really want to deal with a sulky Sherlock. By the route we were taking, I assumed we were heading to Baskerville, and I was proven right when I saw the heavily guarded gates as we approached. There were many military personnel guarding the place, walking the perimeter and standing guard. Sherlock drove us straight up to the gates, where we were stopped by a military security guard holding a rifle. He walked up to the driver's window as Sherlock stopped the car.

"Pass, please." He asked.

Sherlock reached into his coat pocket and handed him a pass.

"Thank you."

The man walked away with the pass as another man had a sniffer dog check the jeep, probably for explosives.

"You've got ID for Baskerville. How?" John asked quietly.

"It's not specific to this place. It's my brother's. Access all areas. I, um ..." Sherlock cleared his throat. "...acquired it ages ago, just in case."

"Brilliant," John breathed sarcastically.

"What's the matter?"

"We'll get caught." I answered.

"No we won't – well, not just yet." Sherlock told us.

"Caught in five minutes. 'Oh, hi, we just thought we'd come and have a wander round your top secret weapons base.' 'Really? Great! Come in – kettle's just boiled.' That's if we don't get shot." John complained.

The gates began to slide open as the security guard walked back over to the car.

"Clear." The dog handler told the guard.

"Thank you very much, sir." The guard said to Sherlock, handing him the pass.

"Thank you." Sherlock replied.

"Straight through, sir."

Sherlock put the car into gear and rolled us forward through the gates.

"Mycroft's name literally opens doors!" John was amazed.

"I've told you – he practically is the British government. I reckon we've got about twenty minutes before they realize something's wrong." Sherlock informed us.

"Oh yes, because that's reassuring," I said sarcastically.

Jim would kill me if I got caught because of this.

We pulled up to the main complex at Baskerville, and we were led by another soldier through barriers and towards an entrance to the main building. I looked around to the other people in the vicinity. Almost all of them armed guards patrolling the area, and even the scientists were being escorted. As we approach the entrance, a military jeep pulled up and a young corporal got out.

"What is it?" the corporal asked. "Are we in trouble?"

"Are we in trouble, sir." Sherlock repeated sternly.

"Yes, sir, sorry, sir." The corporal apologized.

However, the corporal prevented us from getting into the building. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows.

"You were expecting us?"

"Your ID showed up straight away, Mr. Holmes. Corporal Lyons, security. Is there something wrong, sir?"

"Well, I hope not, Corporal, I hope not."

"It's just we don't get inspected here, you see, sir. It just doesn't happen."

"Ever heard of a spot check?" John asked, taking out his wallet and flashing his army ID to Lyons. "Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

Even before he had finished speaking, the corporal came to attention and saluted. John crisply returned the salute.

"Sir. Major Barrymore won't be pleased, sir. He'll want to see you three – I'm sorry, ma'am, who are you?" He directed the question at me.

"Recording secretary," I said, pulling out a spiral notebook I always carried with me and flashing it at him. "I write down what they tell me for later review."

"I'm afraid we won't have time for a meeting with Major Barrymore." John interjected. "We'll need the full tour right away. Carry on."

The corporal hesitated.

"That's an order, Corporal." John pressed.

"Yes, sir."

He spun around and led us towards the entrance. I threw a proud smile at John as we followed, and I could see Sherlock doing the same. Lyons swiped his pass at the entrance, which was marked as an AUTOMATIC SECURITY DOOR, and Sherlock repeated the action with his own pass. The reader beeped its approval and Lyons pressed a button to unlock the door. Sherlock checked his watch as the door swung open. Lyons led us inside, taking off his beret as he went.

"Nice touch." Sherlock told John quietly.

"Haven't pulled rank in ages." John replied.

"Enjoy it?" I asked.

"Oh yeah."

When we reached the door, Lyons swiped his pass and then stepped aside for Sherlock to do likewise. Once again, the machine granted approval. The doors slid opens to reveal an elevator on the other side. Lyons pressed the marked -1 button and the doors close, moving us to the next floor down. We were led into a brightly lit and white tiled laboratory. As we walked forward, I noticed various scientific staff dressed either in white coveralls including full breathing masks, or lab coats and face masks were walking around the lab.

"How many animals do you keep down here?" Sherlock asked.

"Lots, sir." Lyons answered.

"Any ever escape?"

"They'd have to know how to use that lift, sir. We're not breeding them that clever."

"Unless they have help."

A man in a white lab coat holding a mask walked over to us.

"Ah, and you are?" He asked us.

"Sorry, Doctor Frankland." Lyons apologized. "I'm just showing these gentlemen and young lady around."

"Ah, new faces, huh?" Frankland beamed at us. "Nice. Careful you don't get stuck here, though. I only came to fix a tap!"

John chuckled politely as Frankland walked away towards the elevator, Lyons continuing on towards the other end of the room.

"How far down does that lift go?" I asked, remembering to substitute the English colloquial word for elevator.

"Quite a way, ma'am." Lyons answered.

"Right, and what's down there?"

"Well, we have to keep the bins somewhere, ma'am." He answered briskly. "This way please, gentlemen, ma'am."

"So what exactly is it that you do here?" John asked him.

"I thought you'd know, sir, this being an inspection." Lyons replied.

"Well, I'm not an expert, am I?"

"Everything from stem cell research to trying to cure the common cold, sir."

"But mostly weaponry?"

"Of one sort or another, yes."

We had reached the next door, and Lyons swiped his pass. Sherlock reached in and did the same.

"Biological, chemical ...?" John pressed.

"One war ends, another begins, sir. New enemies to fight. We have to be prepared."

Sherlock checked his watch again as Lyons led us through the doors and into another lab where a monkey stood up on its back legs with one hand high in the air and shrieking before sitting down again on a high metal table. A female scientist looked at it and then turned to her colleague.

"Okay, Michael, let's try Harlow Three next time." She said to the man.

We approached her as she began to walk away from the table.

"Doctor Stapleton." Lyons greeted as we reached her.

"Stapleton." Sherlock muttered thoughtfully.

"Yes?" She answered, looking at us. "Who's this?"

"Priority Ultra, ma'am." Lyons informed her. "Orders from on high. An inspection."

"Really?"

"We're to be accorded every courtesy, Doctor Stapleton." Sherlock replied. "What's your role at Baskerville?"

Stapleton snorted in disbelief.

"Er, accorded every courtesy, isn't that the idea?" John pressed.

"I'm not free to say." She responded, "Official secrets."

"Oh, you most certainly are free ..." Sherlock said, smiling before lowering his voice ominously. "... and I suggest you remain that way."

She stared at him, hesitating, for a moment. "I have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. I like to mix things up. Genes, mostly, now and again actual fingers."

Sherlock got a strange look on his face before digging around in his pocket, pulling out his notebook.

"Stapleton. I knew I knew your name." He said.

"I doubt it." She retorted.

"People say there's no such thing as coincidence. What dull lives they must lead." He held up the notebook to her, her face morphing into amazement.

"Have you been talking to my daughter?" She asked.

"Why did Bluebell have to die, Doctor Stapleton?" Sherlock asked her.

"The rabbit?" John questioned, bewildered.

"Disappeared from inside a locked hutch, which was always suggestive." Sherlock continued.

"The rabbit?" I repeated.

"Clearly an inside job." Sherlock ignored us once more.

"Oh, you reckon?" Stapleton asked, sarcasm lacing her voice.

"Why? Because it glowed in the dark."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. Who are you?"

Sherlock checked his watch again before turning to Lyons. "Well, I think we've seen enough for now, Corporal. Thank you so much."

"That's it?" Lyons asked, surprised.

"That's it." He turned and walked briskly back to the door as John, Lyons and I followed. "It's this way, isn't it?"

"Just a minute!" Stapleton called after us, though we ignored her.

John and I rushed up to Sherlock so Lyons couldn't hear us.

"Did we just break into a military base to investigate a rabbit?" John asked, clearly upset.

Sherlock didn't answer, swiping his card as we reached the door and waiting for Lyons to catch up and do the same with his own card. Sherlock walked swiftly through the security doors as soon as they opened and headed for the elevator. His phone trilled a text alert, and he looked at it without stopping.

"Twenty-three minutes. Mycroft's getting slow." He chuckled, putting his phone back in his pocket.

When we did the same for the elevator doors, I was surprised to see Doctor Frankland standing inside. Hadn't he gotten into the elevator over 15 minutes ago? Had he been waiting there for us?

"Hello ... again." He smiled at us as we got in the elevator.

When we reached our destination one floor up, the doors opened to reveal a bearded man in military uniform waiting for us, and he did not look happy.

"Er, um, Major ..." Lyons started nervously.

"This is bloody outrageous. Why wasn't I told?" Major Barrymore demanded.

"Major Barrymore, is it?" John said, stepping out of the elevator. "Yes, well, good. Very good." He offered Barrymore his hand. "We're very impressed, aren't we, Mr. Holmes?"

Barrymore refused to take John's hand and Sherlock merely pulled out his phone, the text alert going off again.

"Deeply; hugely." He muttered, brushing past Barrymore.

We quickly followed him, the major close behind, as we made our way to the exit door.

"The whole point of Baskerville was to eliminate this kind of bureaucratic nonsense ..." Barrymore started.

"I'm so sorry, Major." Sherlock apologized insincerely.

"Inspections?"

"New policy. Can't remain unmonitored forever. Goodness knows what you'd get up to." He lowered his voice for John and me. "Keep walking."

"Sir!" Lyons called, popping out of a side room I didn't even know he had gone into. He slapped an alarm button on the wall, the alert blaring and red lights flashing. The automated security door clicked into lock as we turned back to him. "ID unauthorized, sir."

"What?" Barrymore demanded.

"I've just had the call."

"Is that right?" He turned back to us. "Who are you?"

"Look, there's obviously been some kind of mistake." John attempted to persuade him.

Barrymore held out his hand for Sherlock's ID card, which he handed over. He looked at the card and then up at Sherlock.

"Clearly not Mycroft Holmes."

"Computer error, Major. It'll all have to go in the report." John said, attempting to keep up the façade.

"Noting it," I said, starting to pull out my notebook.

"What the hell's going on?" Barrymore demanded.

"It's all right, Major." Frankland said, walking over. "I know exactly who these gentlemen are."

"You do?" Barrymore asked.

"Yeah. I'm getting a little slow on faces but Mr. Holmes here isn't someone I expected to show up in this place."

"Ah, well ..." Sherlock attempted to explain.

"Good to see you again, Mycroft." Frankland interrupted, offering Sherlock his hand.

I had to struggle to keep my surprise hidden. Sherlock took Frankland's hand, not missing a beat.

"I had the honour of meeting Mr. Holmes at the W.H.O. conference in ..." Frankland paused, pretending to think "... Brussels, was it?"

"Vienna." Sherlock 'corrected'.

"Vienna, that's it." Frankland turned to Barrymore. "This is Mr. Mycroft Holmes, Major. There's obviously been a mistake."

Barrymore frowned, but turned and nodded to Lyons, who turned off the alarm.

"On your head be it, Doctor Frankland." Barrymore said, turning back to him.

"I'll show them out, Corporal." Frankland laughed lightly, turning to Lyons.

"Very well, sir." He replied.

Sherlock spun on his heel and walked towards the now open entrance door, John, Frankland and I on his heels.

"Thank you." Sherlock said to Frankland once we were out of earshot.

"This is about Henry Knight, isn't it?" He asked, though none of us responded. "I thought so. I knew he wanted help but I didn't realize he was going to contact Sherlock Holmes!"

I could feel Sherlock tense up beside me.

"Oh, don't worry. I know who you really are. I'm never off your website." Frankland quickly added. "Thought you'd be wearing the hat, though."

"That wasn't my hat." Sherlock replied tersely.

"I hardly recognize him without the hat!" Frankland said to John and me.

"It wasn't my hat." Sherlock said, biting the 't's.

"I love the blog too, Doctor Watson." Frankland added.

"Oh, cheers!" John thanked him.

"The, er, the Pink thing ..."

"Mmm-hmm."

"... and that one about the aluminum crutch!"

"Yes."

_Please don't mention me. Please don't mention me_. I prayed inside my head. An older man talking to me about my lingerie? No thank you.

"You know Henry Knight?" Sherlock asked as he stopped and turned towards Frankland.

"Well, I knew his dad better. He had all sorts of mad theories about this place. Still, he was a good friend." Frankland turned, noticing Barrymore watching us, before turning back. "Listen, I can't really talk now." He took a card from his coat pocket and handed it to Sherlock. "Here's my, er, cell number. If I could help with Henry, give me a call."

"I never did ask, Doctor Frankland, what exactly is it that you do here?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, I would love to tell you – but then, of course, I'd have to kill you!" Frankland laughed cheerfully.

"That would be tremendously ambitious of you." Sherlock replied, absolutely straight-faced. "Tell me about Doctor Stapleton."

"Never speak ill of a colleague."

"Yet you'd speak well of one, which you're clearly omitting to do."

"I do seem to be, don't I?"

"I'll be in touch." Sherlock raised the card.

"Any time."

We left him behind, walking back to the jeep.

"So?" John asked.

"So?" Sherlock repeated.

"What was all that about the rabbit?"

With a smile as his only answer, Sherlock pulled his coat tighter around him, flipping the collar up as we reached the car. John rolls his eyes and turned to him.

"Oh, please, can we not do this, this time?" He asked.

"Do what?"

"You being all mysterious with your cheekbones and turning your coat collar up so you look cool."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but his confusion prevented any words from coming out.

"... I don't do that." Sherlock protested finally, getting into the car.

"Yeah you do." I countered.

As we drove across the moors to Henry's house, John was unable to let the unanswered question about Bluebell rest.

"So, the email from Kirsty – the, er, missing luminous rabbit." He began.

"Kirsty Stapleton, whose mother specializes in genetic manipulation." Sherlock informed him.

"She made her daughter's rabbit glow in the dark."

"Probably a fluorescent gene removed and spliced into the specimen. Simple enough these days."

"So ..." John trailed off, intending for Sherlock to elaborate.

"So we know that Doctor Stapleton performs secret genetic experiments on animals. The question is: has she been working on something deadlier than a rabbit?"

"To be fair, that is quite a wide field."

A scary as it was, he was right.

"I just have one question," I interjected. "Why did Frankland say 'cell' number? Don't you call it a 'mobile' over here?"

"Probably spent a considerable amount of time in America," Sherlock postulated.

"Hmm," I muttered, not totally convinced. Something just seemed off.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Once more chapter and we're all caught up. Yay!**

**88dragon06: It takes me about a day to write a chapter, so the updates will be alternating each day. If I get a lot of free time I may be able to crank out more than one chapter, but I'm not promising anything.**

* * *

Henry's home was enormous – a four-story stone building that was probably a very important property in the area in the past. There was a large old-fashioned glass conservatory is attached to the rear of the building on the ground floor, which looked more like a small jungle than a conservatory, and a modern two-story glass extension built onto the side of the house to join it to another two-story stone building nearby. I would gladly move in there in a heartbeat. We went through the conservatory to get to the door, and I noticed how very run-down it looked. It obviously hadn't been painted in years. Sherlock rang the doorbell and moments later Henry opened the door.

"Hi." He greeted.

"Hi." John responded.

"Come in, come in."

I followed Sherlock as he walked in and down the hallway. John, however, stopped to look into a large high-ceilinged sitting room before following Henry again.

"This is, uh ... are you, um ..." He paused, feeling around for the right word. "... rich?"

"Yeah." Henry answered.

"Right."

Henry passed us, leading us towards the kitchen. Sherlock tossed a dark look at John, and I rolled my eyes.

"Play nice," I muttered.

When we sat down in the kitchen, Sherlock began making himself coffee. Henry sat across from John and me, and began to describe the dreams he'd been having.

"It's-it's a couple of words. It's what I keep seeing. 'Liberty' ..." He said, staring at the island table.

"Liberty." John repeated, pulling out his notebook.

"'Liberty' and ... 'in'. It's just that." He picked up the bottle of milk that had been left on the island. "Are you finished?"

"Mmm." John nodded.

As Henry put the milk in the fridge, John turned to Sherlock, who was now seated next to him.

"Mean anything to you?"

"Liberty in death – isn't that the expression?" Sherlock said softly. "The only true freedom."

"What now, then?" Henry asked, turning back around.

"Sherlock's got a plan." I told him.

"Yes."

"Right." Henry said.

"We take you back out onto the moor ..." Sherlock began.

"Okay ..."

"... and see if anything attacks you."

"What?" John was shocked.

"Whoa, wait, what?" I cried simultaneously.

"That should bring things to a head." Sherlock finished dryly.

"At night? You want me to go out there at night?" Henry asked shakily.

"Mmm." Sherlock affirmed.

"That's your plan?" John snorted with laughter. "Brilliant."

"Got any better ideas?" Sherlock asked.

"That's not a plan."

"Listen, if there is a monster out there, John, there's only one thing to do: find out where it lives."

He looked at Henry, flashing a smile before sipping his coffee. Henry, however, did not look encouraged in the slightest.

It was dusk when we finally went to the moors, and Henry was leading us across the rocks towards Dewer's Hollow. By the time we reached the woods it was almost completely dark and as we headed into the trees what little light was left faded off. At least we had flashlights. I heard John stop behind me, and turned to see what had caught his eye. Sherlock and Henry took no notice and kept walking forward. I stepped closer to John as he flashed his light into the bushes, but there was nothing there. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a bright light blinking repeatedly off into the distance.

"Sher..." John began, but realized he had already gone off.

"Is it Morse?" I asked as he turned around.

"Possibly," he pulled out his notebook. "U ... M ... Q ... R ... A."

The light vanished, offering no more letters.

"U, M, Q, R, A." He repeated it in a whisper.

"Umqra?" I tested. "Umq – that's not a word."

John shook his head, shutting the notebook, and headed off where the other two had gone. I had no other choice but to follow him. Neither of us knew how far we were behind, so we called Sherlock's name as loud as we dared. At one point, he held out a hand, stopping me from going forward. I strained my eyes and ears, trying to get a hint of what he had stopped for. There was an eerie metallic thrumming sound, coming from somewhere. He stopped and aimed his flashlight in the direction of the sound, but there was nothing. We started to move forward, but heard it again. It repeated, now interspersed with a short metallic ping. John walked slowly towards the sound, holding out a hand for me to stay back, but began to quietly chuckle when he found the source. I walked forward slightly, seeing a rusty metal container, or it might've been an oil drum, lying in the undergrowth. Rain water or dew was dripping from the tree above it, causing the noises when it hit the drum. As John and I made sounds of relief, we heard something massive flashes through the bushes behind us. We spun to look but it was already gone; a couple of seconds later an anguished howl burst from the distance. John and I shared a short worried glance before taking off to find the others.

Not too long after, we saw Sherlock storming through the trees, followed closely by Henry.

"Did you hear that?" John asked, referencing the howl we had heard.

Sherlock didn't answer, storming straight past us. We turned to follow him.

"We saw it. We saw it." Henry said breathlessly.

"No. I didn't see anything." Sherlock denied, almost rushing his words.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I didn't. See. Anything." He spat out, not stopping for anything.

I brought Sherlock back to the inn as John took Henry back to his house. He refused to speak to me, no matter what I tried. I sat him in an armchair by a roaring open fire, his face still full of shock and disbelief.

"Sherlock, what happened?" I pressed, sitting down in the armchair in the middle.

No response.

"You wouldn't be looking like this if nothing happened. Please, tell me."

Nothing. Moments later, John returned, sitting down in the free arm chair on the other side of the fire.

"Well, he is in a pretty bad way." John started, referring to Henry. "He's manic, totally convinced there's some mutant super-dog roaming the moors."

Sherlock didn't answer, pressing his hands together in his normal thinking position and tossing a worry filled glance at John before looking back to the fire.

"And there isn't, though, is there?" John continued. "Cause if people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we'd know.

Sherlock clasped his fingers together, closing his eyes and breathing heavily as if he was trying to fend off a panic attack.

"They'd be for sale. I mean, that's how it works." John pulled out his notebook. "Er, listen, er, on the moor I saw someone signaling. Er, Morse – I guess it's Morse. Doesn't seem to make much sense."

Sherlock was silent still, pulling in a sharp breaths through his nose and blowing it out through his mouth.

"Er, U, M, Q, R, A. Does that mean ... anything ..."

John looked at Sherlock and finally realized how distressed Sherlock was. He paused for a moment, putting his notebook away again and sits back in his chair.

"So, okay, what have we got?" John continued. "We know there's footprints, cause Henry found them; so did the tour guide bloke. We all heard something."

Sherlock blew out another shaky breath. John looked across to him and frowned momentarily.

"Maybe we should just look for whoever's got a big dog."

"Henry's right." Sherlock finally spoke.

"What?" I asked.

"I saw it too." Sherlock's voice was shaking.

"What?" John said, shocked.

"I saw it too, John." Sherlock repeated.

"Just ... just a minute." John sat forward. "You saw what?"

Sherlock turned his face towards John, his face twisted with self-loathing as he spoke through gritted teeth.

"A hound, out there in the Hollow. A gigantic hound."

John almost laughed as Sherlock looked away, trying unsuccessfully to blink back tears. I was still trying to process what Sherlock had just said.

"Um, look, Sherlock, we have to be rational about this, okay? Now you, of all people, can't just ..." John paused as Sherlock blew out another breath. "Let's just stick to what we know, yes? Stick to the facts."

"Once you've ruled out the impossible, whatever remains – however improbable – must be true." Sherlock said softly.

"You've said that before," I mentioned, remembering the superhero case.

"So what does that mean in this case?" John asked.

Sherlock looked away, reaching down to the table to grab his drink from the table. He nodded towards his trembling hand, sniggering humorlessly. "Look at me. I'm afraid, John. Afraid."

He took a drink and held the glass up again, his hand still shaking.

"Sherlock?" John asked carefully.

"Always been able to keep myself distant ..." He took another drink. "... divorce myself from ... feelings that were unnecessary. But look, you see ..." He held up the glass and glared at his shaking hand. "... body's betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions." He slammed the glass down onto the table. "The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment."

"Yeah, all right, Spock, just ..." John paused, realizing he'd begun to raise his voice. "... take it easy."

"John," I started.

"He's been pretty wired lately, Diana, you know he has." John interrupted before turning back to Sherlock. "I think you've just gone out there and got yourself a bit worked up."

"Worked ... up?" Sherlock spat.

"It was dark and scary ..."

Sherlock laughed sarcastically, "Me? There's nothing wrong with me."

He looked away, almost beginning to hyperventilate, as he put his fingertips to his temples, groaning in anguish. John looked at him in concern.

"Sherlock ..." he began.

"John, lay off him," I warned softly, noticing Sherlock's fingers beginning to tremble against his skin.

John ignored me. "Sher..."

"THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME!" Sherlock exclaimed loudly, glaring at John. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" He paused, looking at the patrons who were now staring. He turned back to John, his eyes slightly wild. "You want me to prove it, yes?" He pulled in a deep breath. "We're looking for a dog, yes, a great big dog, that's your brilliant theory. Cherchez le chien. Good, excellent, yes, where shall we start?"

He looked over his shoulder and pointed at a man and woman sitting opposite each other at a table in the corner of the restaurant.

"How about them? The sentimental widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman. The answer's yes."

"Yes?" John asked.

"She's got a West Highland terrier called Whisky. Not exactly what we're looking for."

"Oh, Sherlock, for God's sake ..." John said quietly.

Sherlock looked briefly across at the man before turning away again.

"Look at the jumper he's wearing. Hardly worn. Clearly he's uncomfortable in it. Maybe it's because of the material; more likely the hideous pattern, suggesting it's a present, probably Christmas. So he wants into his mother's good books. Why? Almost certainly money." He took another quick glance. "He's treating her to a meal but his own portion is small. That means he wants to impress her, but he's trying to economize on his own food."

"Well, maybe he's just not hungry." John supposed.

"No, small plate. Starter. He's practically licked it clean. She's nearly finished her pavlova. If she'd treated him, he'd have had as much as he wanted. He's hungry all right, and not well off – you can tell that by the state of his cuffs and shoes. How d'you know she's his mother?" Sherlock's voice was becoming a low hiss, almost frantic. "Who else would give him a Christmas present like that? Well, it could be an aunt or an elder sister, but mother's more likely. Now, he was a fisherman. Scarring pattern on his hands, very distinctive – fish hooks. They're all quite old now, which suggests he's been unemployed for some time. Not much industry in this part of the world, so he's turned to his widowed mother for help. "Widowed?" Yes, obviously. She's got a man's wedding ring on a chain round her neck – clearly her late husband's and too big for her finger. She's well-dressed but her jewelry's cheap. She could afford better, but she's kept it – it's sentimental. Now, the dog: tiny little hairs all over the leg from where it gets a little bit too friendly, but no hairs above the knees, suggesting it's a small dog, probably a terrier. In fact it is – a West Highland terrier called Whisky. How the hell do you know that, Sherlock? 'Cause she was on the same train as us and I heard her calling its name and that's not cheating, that's listening, I use my senses, John, unlike some people, so you see, I am fine, in fact I've never been better, so just Leave. Me. Alone."

He glared at John, who stared back at him in shock.

"Yeah." John said, clearing his throat. "Okay. Okay."

John attempted to settle back in his chair as Sherlock stared towards the fire, breathing heavily.

"And why would you listen to me? I'm just your friend." John stated.

"I don't have friends." Sherlock spat savagely.

"Oh, Jesus," I moaned, putting my head in my hands.

"Naah. Wonder why?" John said softly, getting up and walking away.

I sat there, my head still in my hands, after John had left. Sherlock had really put his foot in it this time.

"Aren't you going to leave too?" Sherlock asked, the venom not completely gone from his voice.

"Do you want me to?" I asked, lifting my head from my palms.

"No, though I wasn't sure if you were offended by what I said. It's perfectly reasonable to be."

"Yes, well this isn't a perfectly reasonable situation. You're obviously still scared out of your mind. The things you say have to be taken with a grain of salt."

Sherlock didn't say anything.

"But you've really put a foot in it this time." I muttered, leaning back in the chair. "John doesn't deserve the way you treat him."

"And how do I treat him?" Sherlock asked icily.

"Like he's an idiot. Yeah, we get it, you're the brilliant one of this group. But John has done so much for you. He's killed a man to save your life. He almost got blown up because of you. He almost got shot because of you. So yeah, I think he deserves a bit more credit for trying to look out for you."

"You call that looking out for me?"

"Oh please, Sherlock. You got scared, more scared than either of us have ever seen you. Do you really think John would know how to react to that?"

Sherlock didn't answer. I sighed as I rubbed my temples.

"Look, Sherlock, I think whatever happened tonight will be put into perspective after a good night's sleep."

I stood up, patting him lightly on the shoulder and walked off to bed.

The next morning, I walked out into the village to look for John and Sherlock, since neither was in their rooms. I made my way to an old church, seeing Sherlock and John in the graveyard. John was starting to walk away again from Sherlock, who turned and called after him.

"Listen, what I said before, John. I meant it."

John stopped and turned back to face him. I ducked behind a gravestone, not wanting to intrude on the moment between them or making whatever apology Sherlock was trying to make awkward by being there.

"I don't have friends." Sherlock told him. "I've just got one."

_Well, ouch. That hurt._

I peeked out from the gravestone, seeing John look away momentarily before turning back and nodding towards Sherlock.

"Right."

"John? John!" Sherlock started to chase after John. "You are amazing! You are fantastic!"

"Yes, all right! You don't have to overdo it." John said, not stopping.

I emerged from my hiding place, composing myself as I jogged up to the boys. I caught up with them just as Sherlock reached John.

"Hey, what'd I miss?" I asked lightly.

Sherlock got in front of us and began walking backwards.

"You've never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable." Sherlock began, addressing John.

"Cheers. ... What?" John was confused.

Sherlock turned round and placed himself on the opposite side of John, pulling out his notebook and starting to write in it.

"Some people who aren't geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others."

"Hang on – you were saying "Sorry" a minute ago. Don't spoil it. Go on: what have I done that's so bloody stimulating?"

Sherlock stopped just outside the pub door and turned back to us, showing what he has just written in his notebook: HOUND

"Yeah?" John asked.

Sherlock pulled the notebook back and wrote in it again, "But what if it's not a word? What if it is individual letters?"

He turned the notebook around again, now reading: H.O.U.N.D.

"You think it's an acronym?" I asked.

"Absolutely no idea but ..." Sherlock said as he put the notebook back in his pocket, trailing off as he looked inside the pub.

We followed his line of sight though the pub door and saw a familiar figure standing inside at the bar. Wearing grey trousers and a grey shirt with a light jacket over the top, heavily suntanned and with sunglasses on, Detective Inspector Lestrade stood there as if he was expecting someone. Sherlock stormed into the pub, John and I close behind.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He demanded.

"Well, nice to see you too," Lestrade retorted sarcastically. "I'm on holiday, would you believe?"

"No, I wouldn't."

"Hullo, John, Diana." Lestrade greeted, taking off his sunglasses, as he caught sight of us.

"Greg!" John greeted.

"I heard you three were in the area. What are you up to? You after this Hound of Hell like on the telly?"

"I'm waiting for an explanation, Inspector. Why are you here?" Sherlock pressed.

"I've told you: I'm on holiday." Lestrade answered.

"You're brown as a nut. You're clearly just back from your 'holidays'."

"Yeah, well I fancied another one." Lestrade attempted nonchalance.

"Oh, this is Mycroft, isn't it?"

"No, look ..."

"Of course it is! One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to ... to spy on me incognito. Is that why you're calling yourself Greg?"

"That's his name." I informed him.

"Is it?" Sherlock asked, frowning slightly.

"Yes – if you'd ever bothered to find out. Look, I'm not your handler ..." Lestrade answered, turning away to pick up his pint from the bar. "... and I don't just do what your brother tells me."

"Actually, you could be just the man we want." John mused.

"Why?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, I've not been idle, Sherlock." John answered, rummaging in his trouser pocket. "I think I might have found something."

He showed Sherlock the sales invoice from Undershaw Meat Supplies that he had found when we first checked in.

"Here. Didn't know if it was relevant; starting to look like it might be. That is an awful lot of meat for a vegetarian restaurant."

"Excellent." Sherlock murmured.

I grinned as I looked at Lestrade knowing what John was talking about. "Nice scary inspector from Scotland Yard who can put in a few calls might come in very handy."

As Sherlock and Lestrade exchanged a look, John slapped his hand down on the bell on top of the bar.

"Shop!"

Later Lestrade began looking through the paperwork Billy and Gary had brought him. The three were sitting at a table while John and I leaned against the wall near the fireplace. Sherlock was behind the bar, making coffee. He picked up the cup and carried it over to John, offering it to him.

"What's this?" John asked.

"Coffee. I made coffee."

"You never make coffee."

"I just did. Don't you want it?"

"You don't have to keep apologizing."

Sherlock looked away with a hurt expression on his face. John relented and took the cup and saucer. I furrowed my eyebrows; something weird was going on.

"Thanks." Sherlock smiled happily as John sipped, grimacing slightly. "Mm. I don't take sugar ..."

John looked back at Sherlock, the hurt expression coming back onto his face as he looked away again. His expression reminded me of a puppy whose owner has just told him off for chewing his slippers. John looked at his face and took another drink.

"These records go back nearly two months." Lestrade said as he finished flipping through the books.

Grimacing at the taste, John put the cup back into the saucer and looked at Sherlock. "That's nice. That's good."

He turned away to put the drink down as Greg continued interrogating Gary and Billy.

"Is that when you had the idea, after the TV show went out?" Lestrade asked Billy and Gary.

"It's me. It was me." Billy confessed, turning to Gary. "I'm sorry, Gary – I couldn't help it. I had a bacon sandwich at Carol's wedding and one thing just led to another ..."

But Lestrade wasn't having any of it. "Nice try."

"Look, we were just trying to give things a bit of a boost, you know?" Gary explained guiltily. "A great big dog run wild up on the moor – it was heaven-sent. It was like us having our own Loch Ness Monster."

"Where do you keep it?" Lestrade asked.

"There's an old mineshaft. It's not too far. It was all right there."

"Was?" Sherlock clarified.

Gary sighed, "We couldn't control the bloody thing. It was vicious. And then, a month ago, Billy took him to the vet and, er ... you know."

"It's dead?" John asked.

"Put down." Gary confirmed.

"Yeah. No choice. So it's over." Billy added.

"It was just a joke, you know?"

"Yeah, hilarious," Lestrade said acerbically, standing up and looking at them angrily. "You've nearly driven a man out of his mind."

He walked out of the room, John and I following him.

"You know he's actually pleased you're here?" John told Lestrade when we were outside of the pub.

Lestrade threw him a disbelieving look.

"Secretly pleased." John corrected.

"Is he? That's nice…I suppose he likes having all the same faces back together. Appeals to his ... his ..."

He stopped, searching for the right word.

"... Asperger's?" John suggested.

Sherlock emerged from the pub, glowering at John as he had heard the last word.

"So, you believe him about having the dog destroyed?" Lestrade asked.

"No reason not to." Sherlock answered.

"Well, hopefully there's no harm done. Not quite sure what I'd charge him with anyway. I'll have a word with the local Force." He nodded to us. "Right, that's that, then. Catch you later." He smiled. "I'm enjoying this! It's nice to get London out of your lungs!"

John turned to Sherlock as Lestrade walked away. "So that was their dog that people saw out on the moor?"

"Looks like it." Sherlock agreed.

"But that wasn't what you saw. That wasn't just an ordinary dog."

"No." Sherlock mused, his gaze becoming distant. "It was immense, had burning red eyes and it was glowing, John. Its whole body was glowing." He shuddered, shaking off the memory, before turning and walking towards the car park. "I've got a theory but I need to get back into Baskerville to test it."

"How? Can't pull off the ID trick again." John told him as we followed.

"Might not have to." Sherlock replied, pulling out his phone and hitting speed dial. "Hello, brother dear. How are you?"

"I'm going to go have a lie down," I told John as Sherlock kept on towards the Jeep, gesturing to the inn. "I'm not feeling well."

"Are you sure," John asked, concern showing on his face.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'm fine. You guys go on ahead."

"Alright, but call me if you need me."

I smiled softly, "Thanks."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: We're finally caught up! I should be getting a chapter of 'Nicotine Patch' up later today..hopefully. We'll see.**

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I was lying on the bed in my room, debating whether or not to pack and just leave. It was stupid, and I was probably overreacting, but hearing Sherlock basically write me off as a friend hurt. I sighed, laying on the bed and rubbing my temples before I grabbed my phone.

"Yeah?"

I didn't plan on crying. Hell, I didn't even feel like crying when I was sitting in my room. But as soon as I heard Sebastian's voice on the other end I couldn't help myself. I threw a hand over my mouth to stifle to sobs, tears leaking out of my eyes.

"Diana?" He asked worriedly. "Diana, what happened? What's wrong?"

"Sebastian, I want to come home." I whined.

"Diana, talk to me please. What happened?"

"I'm just being stupid, really. I just shouldn't have come here and I want to come home."

"Okay, but why are you calling me?" He asked delicately.

"I need you to go the Baker Street and start moving my stuff out. I'll let Mrs. Hudson know you're coming. She'll let you in with the spare key."

"I'm not trying to talk you out of it, believe me. I want you to move in almost as much as Jim does. But, why the sudden change? Why have you called me crying?"

I sniffed. "I don't really want to talk about it. I've just been fooling myself that things could be the same after starting this with Jim. I just…" I sighed, rubbing my temples again. "I just want to come home."

"Okay," he said. "I'll be at the train station when you get there."

"I'll see you then."

I hung up and called for a car to pick me up at the inn before I began to throw my things in my suitcase. I didn't really care about being neat. I knew I was overreacting. I knew it the moment I had hung up. But at the same time, I just didn't want to be in Dartmoor anymore. I really did want to go home, even if home wasn't Baker Street anymore. I sighed as I lugged my bag outside where the car was waiting for me. As the driver was putting the bag in the back, Lestrade jogged up to me.

"Diana, what're you doing?" He asked, his eyebrows creased in confusion.

"I'm going home. I'm not feeling well." I told him, looking off to the side.

"Yeah, and you're also not telling me the truth. Why have you been crying? And why aren't you looking me in the eyes?"

I laughed humorlessly, "Sherlock and John make a great team, don't they?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"They work so well together," I continued, not answering his question. "And I've been doing my own thing for a while. It's not like the Musketeers; they don't need a third."

"So you're leaving?"

"Yeah," I looked up at him. "But don't tell them. At least, not until the case is over, if you can. I don't want this to distract them."

"You should tell them yourself," he said softly.

I smiled sadly, "I can't do that. I've got to go."

I gave Lestrade a quick hug before getting in the car. He gave a small wave as I drove off, which I returned before pulling out my phone and calling Mrs. Hudson.

Sebastian was waiting for me at the train station when I returned. He pulled me into a hug, and I was immediately grateful I had made friends with him. He may have been ruthless, blood-thirsty and the second most dangerous man in London, but he was also a good friend.

"Diana, what happened?" He asked as we pulled out of the hug.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Diana – "

"Sebastian, please," I cut him off. "I really don't want to talk about it. I just want to go home."

"And by home, you're not talking about Baker Street, right?"

"Right. We just need to get whatever's left."

"We've got most of it, just your clothes. I figured you didn't want the guys messing with your clothes." He said as we walked towards his car.

I laughed lightly, "Yeah, thanks."

"The movers are still there waiting to take your dressers, though. So we'll want to be quick about it. Jim's the one paying for it and they charge by the hour."

"Oh, like he'll hurt for the money."

Sebastian chuckled, "He dislikes spending his money on 'honest' things."

"What, and moving me into his house is an honest thing?"

"Well, seeing as how he's planning on officially making you his girlfriend when he gets out, then yeah. But, you didn't hear it from me."

"Are – are you serious?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he grinned.

I rolled my eyes, playfully shoving him in the arm.

We moved the rest of my stuff out, and I paid Mrs. Hudson three month's rent, the only thank you I think of. Sebastian and I packed the rest of my things up and put them in the moving truck. I scribbled a quick note for John and Sherlock and taped it to the door to their living room. It felt kind of weird leaving Baker Street; it had been my only home in London. I looked around the flat one last time, before leaving for good.

"Are you sure about this?" Sebastian asked as we followed the moving truck.

"What, are you trying to talk me out of it?"

"No," he laughed. "Jim made it very clear he wants you living with him. I think the words 'drag her kicking and screaming if you have to' were used. But, I'm going to have to tell him what happened."

"You mean about me going to Dartmoor?"

"Yeah."

"I see the problem. I go off somewhere with Sherlock and come back crying. Doesn't exactly look good, does it?"

"I don't think he's going to jump to any conclusions, but he will want to know what happened."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair, "Long story short, I overheard Sherlock saying some things when he didn't know I was listening and it didn't exactly make me feel good about myself."

"What did he say?"

"Look, Sebastian, I don't want to talk about it." I said sternly. "If Jim asks then just tell him what I told you."

"He's going to want to know what Sherlock said."

"Yeah, well too bad," I finished, looking out the window.

I was making a mountain out of a molehill, and I knew it. It probably wasn't a big deal. But, at the same time, hearing Sherlock basically say I wasn't his friend truly did hurt. He had just done to me the same thing he did with Molly, Donovan, Anderson, and people in general. Essentially written me off as a 'worthy' human being. Being made to feel like you didn't count wasn't exactly the greatest feeling in the world, and I wasn't going to waste my time trying to convince him otherwise. Not when I had Jim by my side, not to mention friends like Sebastian and Griffiths.

Things would get better.

They had to.

/

"Diana?" John asked, rapping on her door with his knuckles.

No answer. He tried again.

"Diana?"

"She's probably out," Sherlock surmised. "She has been out a lot."

"Yeah, but she came home because she wasn't feeling well," John replied. "I doubt she'd be going out."

"Boys? What are you doing out here?" Mrs. Hudson asked, coming out of her flat.

"We wanted to check in on Diana, see how she's feeling, but she's not answering her door." John informed her.

"Didn't she tell you?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Tell us what?" Sherlock returned.

"She's moved out. Gone to live with that man of hers. I think she left something on your door."

Sherlock and John exchanged glances before climbing the stairs, seeing the note Mrs. Hudson told them about taped to their door. John pulled it off, reading it aloud so Sherlock could hear as well.

_Dear John and Sherlock,_

_I'm sorry I couldn't tell you in person, but I've decided to move in with my boyfriend. I've loved living in Baker Street and downstairs from you guys, but things have changed and I don't feel at home here like I used to. I wish you guys the very best, and if I'm needed I'm just a phone call away._

_Take care._

_-Diana_

/

It was too quiet in Jim's place with him away; I didn't like the silence and the staff didn't seem too keen to strike up a conversation with me. Griffiths and Sebastian were apparently taking turns keeping me entertained. Currently we were all sitting in the living room. They boys were talking about their favorite types of guns while I sat in an armchair, staring off towards the wall and playing with my lip absentmindedly.

"I wonder..." I trailed off.

The boys turned to me, slightly surprised at my odd half-statement.

"Sorry?" Griffiths asked.

"I was just thinking. Both Sherlock and Jim deal with people coming to them for help, and I have to wonder if Jim's clients were as annoying as Sherlock's."

"What do you mean?" Sebastian questioned.

"Well, maybe annoying is the wrong word. Garrulous is more like it."

"Nice vocab word."

"Thanks. But I'm serious. Does he ever get as bored when they go on and on with their stories? Because everyone's got stories. God, people are lousy with them, aren't they? I wish they would just get to the fun bits right off and then go away."

"Well, he doesn't actually talk with his clients directly," Sebastian reminded me. "He gets the 'fun bits', as you call them."

"But why does he entertain them? Do the crimes? Make the little people happy when their wife gets offed and they walk free, or a fucking cabbie wants to get money for his kids, or someone wants to disappear because of money problems."

Sebastian and Griffiths exchanged a look. I was acting a little funny. Truth be told, I was bored out of my mind. They were good company, don't get me wrong, but I had been cooped up in the house for two days straight. I could only watch so much daytime telly before my head exploded.

"He doesn't actually care about them, Diana," Sebastian explained. "He just does them because he's bored."

I chuckled unsmilingly, "I know the feeling. But, he could do so much more. With all those resources, he could take over the world. That's what I would do."

Sebastian was silent for a moment, before putting the gun he had been holding on the table and leaning towards me, "Diana, do you know why Jim became a criminal in the first place?"

"Carl Powers was mean to him?"

"No, perhaps I worded my question wrong. Do you know why he created his criminal empire?"

I frowned, turning towards Sebastian, "I hadn't really thought about it."

"He doesn't actually have a motivation like money, power, revenge, or the need to prove himself or whatever. He could end the world with the snap of his fingers, but he wouldn't because then there'd be nothing to play with. He started the organization because it was something to do; something he could treat like a machine and work with to make it better. The money and the house and everything he could've gotten any other way; money's useless to him. It's the mayhem he likes; it's the mayhem that keeps him from getting bored. The little things are just placeholders until he can make it happen."

I was silent. I had known these things already, deep down. I had known how bored Jim was with life and how he was apathetic towards humanity. But having it spelled out for me in such a way was interesting. It didn't change the way I looked at Jim, for he'd always be more than the consulting criminal to me, but I'd never actually know his reasoning behind it.

Sebastian's phone rang, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah?" He answered, pausing to listen to the person on the other end. "Alright, I'll be there as soon as I can." He hung up, turning to me. "That was Jim, he just got let out. I'm going to get him."

I nodded as I grabbed his gun and coat, beginning to walk out of the room. He paused just as he reached the door, turning back to Griffiths.

"Watch her, okay."

"I was planning on it," Griffiths responded, a slight smile on his face.

"I'm not going to do anything," I sniggered incredulously.

"We know how Jim gets when he's bored. We're not going to take any chances with you." Sebastian said, raising an eyebrow knowingly as he left.

"Whatever," I muttered, sinking into the chair and closing my eyes.

/

"Is she moved in?" Jim asked immediately as he closed the car door behind him.

"Yeah, but there's something you should know." Sebastian said cautiously.

"Is she alright?"

She didn't move in right away."

"Oh? Why not?"

"She went off to Dartmoor…"

"What the hell is in Dartmoor?"

"…with Sherlock."

"What?" Jim asked dangerously.

"He had a case or something. She called me after a day, crying because she overheard Sherlock saying something about her."

"He said something about her and made her cry?" Jim questioned, his voice still low.

"Yes.

"What did he say?"

"She won't talk about it. Whatever it was, it was bad enough that she doesn't even want to mention it."

Jim's jaw tightened. He had wanted to ruin Sherlock before, but now he wanted to fucking destroy him. The one person Jim had truly cared about and Sherlock had hurt her Made her cry. Jim would destroy his entire life for this.

"Boss, I think it's time." Sebastian said, snapping Jim out of his murderous thoughts.

"Time for what?"

"Time to bring Diana into the business."

"No," Jim snapped.

"Why not?" Sebastian raised his voice.

"Sebastian, you forget your place."

"No, Jim. I don't think I do. It's my job to protect you, and be your friend. But I can't protect you if you leave your best ally in the dark. She's smart, Jim, and you know it. She just got hurt by your arch enemy and while she might not be thirsting for revenge she won't be too concerned about loyalty to him. She loves you and is scared to admit it, so if I were you I'd do something to keep her around until you're both ready to admit it."

Jim was silent for a moment, his eyes distant in thought.

"Well, Sebastian, looks like you're good at things other than shooting."

"Yeah, well you hired me for a reason."

"And you're right. It is time. You think she'll be able to handle it?"

"Do you doubt her?"

"No, but I want your opinion."

"I think that she'll need to get used to it, but once she's learned the ropes she'll be as good as you."

"My thoughts exactly."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Thanks for the amazing reviews guys! I'm glad you're still enjoying this story as well as my other one!**

**Also, I am NOT advocating the use of sodium fluoride to use on someone. Too much and it could result in death; so just stick with using your feminine wiles to get what you want.**

** : They're bringing her into the consulting criminal business. You'll get to see it in this chapter.**

* * *

Jim encased me in a long hug as soon as he walked in the door, burying his face into my neck.

"Never again," he muttered against my skin.

"You're never leaving again is what I hope you mean," I smiled, feeling his lips brush against my neck.

He pulled away, pressing his lips to mine. There was a soft urgency behind the kiss, as if he we attempting to make up for angering me and leaving me at the same time. We became lost in our own little world, only being brought back to reality by Sebastian clearing his thoughts.

"Boss, there was something you wanted to ask Diana something…"

Jim looked at Sebastian, an expression of 'are you serious' clouding his features.

"I was just locked in a room with only Mycroft Holmes and his little assistants for company for weeks. You expect me to halt my reunion with my girlfriend for something that can be said afterwards? Hmm?"

"Girlfriend?" I smiled.

Jim turned back to me, pecking me lightly on the lips. "If you'll have me."

I giggled lightly, "You are something else, Jim Moriarty."

"Would you have me any other way?" He grinned.

"Never," I murmured, resuming the kiss.

We were seated hours later in the dining room, the floor plans for an auction house laid before us.

"So, the security cameras are here, here and here in the main showing room," I pointed out the location of the cameras, each marked with a symbol to denote their location. "In the rest of the building there are about twenty-eight more security cameras. And the security booth is here, where all the camera feeds are on separate circuits."

"There's no chance for an aerial extraction because of the position of the cameras and the floor has both pressure alarms and invisible random lasers that if triggered will activate hydraulically-operated reinforced steel shutters," Sebastian added.

"I mean, they're treating this place like the fucking National Portrait Gallery, and all they have is crap stuff. Why have we bothered getting this?" I asked Jim, flicking the floor plan.

"In one week they'll be auctioning off _The Falls of Reichenbach_ by Turner. We're going to steal it."

"Because…"

"Who will they call to recover it?" He asked, looking up at me.

"Sherlock," I replied, still unsure of where Jim was going.

"Exactly. He'll find it, and the second part of the game will begin."

"Okay," I said, hopping up to sit on the table. "You've got to stop talking in riddles. What exactly is going on?"

"Sherlock's going to get famous, and we're going to help him. Make little crimes like stealing paintings, kidnapping, et cetera. And then, when the nation is bowing at his feet, we're going to pull the rug out from under him. Turn him into a fraud."

"Oh. Sure." I said, running a head through my hair.

"But first we need that painting," Sebastian told us. "And we haven't had enough time to infiltrate the security guards to have them switch off the security measures."

"Sodium fluoride." I said, quicker than I had meant to.

"What?" Jim and Sebastian asked, looking at me in confusion.

"During the Second World War, both German and Russian forces added sodium fluoride to the water of prisoners of war, because they discovered it could make their prisoners 'stupid and docile'. In certain low-concentrated levels it could induce sheep-like, obedient, unthinking behavior over a given period of time, roughly a couple of days. But higher concentrated levels were often used on obstinate bulls for easier handling. Technically speaking, it would only take a glass of water filled with an eighth of sodium fluoride to significantly impair acetylcholine synthesis in the body, acetylcholine being the brain chemical that allows clear thinking and concentration."

Jim and Sebastian stared at me, their jaws dangling in amazement.

"How on earth do you know all that?" Jim managed.

I shrugged, "I dated a Chemistry major in university."

"Isn't there fluoride in the water here?" Sebastian asked. "Why aren't all of us acting like sheep?"

I chuckled, "Have you seen some of the television programs that are being shown? But, no, the fluoride levels in the water aren't significant enough to trigger any kind of reaction. It's only to help your teeth."

"Okay, but how would we get the security guards to drink it?"

"Seriously? Put it in their water, tea, coffee, whatever. It's simple enough. The difficult pat would be getting it in the first place."

"I can handle that," Jim said, finally picking his jaw off the floor. "And once we've drugged the men, the painting is ours for the taking."

A few days later, I walked into the library in Jim's house to find hi seated in a damask armchair. He looked up from his book as he heard me enter.

"The newspaper just came in," I told him, waving it for display.

"Oh? Have we become famous?"

"The unsung villains," I sighed dramatically, walking over and sitting in his lap. I showed him the front page, "Hero of the Reichenbach."

He rolled his eyes at the atrocious headline. I grinned as I began to read the article aloud.

"Turner masterpiece recovered by 'amateur' ; Scotland Yard embarrassed by overlooked clues. A Turner masterpiece worth £1.7million that was stolen from an auction house ten days ago has been recovered by an amateur detective from North London. Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street has been investigating the art crime simply as a hobby, and yet he was able to follow the trail that led him to the famous work – a trail that Scotland Yard missed completely. Sherlock Holmes has gained cult following the publication of his website – The Science of Deduction."

I sighed as I flung the newspaper away.

"And yet not one mention in the entire article about my brilliant sodium fluoride trick," I frowned theatrically.

"Aw, you poor thing," Jim played along. "Want me to make it better?"

I giggled, pulling him in for a kiss, "As only you know how."

It was a week later when our newest adventure was publicized. Jim walked into the kitchen, a location that up until recently he hadn't been in, and found me attempting to teach Sebastian to cook.

"Okay, look," I laughed at Sebastian's pitiful attempt at seasoning a chicken. "If you want to take this girl on more than one date, you're going to have to avoid food poisoning. Or just making her vomit."

"Why can't I just order food?" Sebastian whined.

"Sebastian Moran," I scolded, smacking him on the arm with an oven mitt, "Jim learned how to be romantic so you better too."

Jim snorted, "That'll be he day."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, boss." Sebastian rolled his eyes.

"Is that today's paper?" I asked, nodding towards the paper in his hands.

"It is, indeed." Jim opened the paper and began to read. "Sherlock Holmes was last night being hailed a hero yet again for masterminding the daring escape of the kidnapped man. Scotland Yard had to secretly bring in their special weapon (in the form of Mr. Holmes) yet again. The case has drawn a huge amount of attention as the nation became divided about the outcome of the kidnapping. Bankers are certainly not the nation's sweethearts anymore, but Mr. Holmes certainly seems to be. As huge crowds gathered for the press conference, Mr. Holmes was presented with a gift from the family of the returned man as they expressed their gratitude."

"What? They ignored my brilliance again?" I was slightly insulted.

"That benzodiazepine idea was pretty good," Sebastian agreed.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say Sherlock was doing that on purpose just to piss me off."

Jim chuckled, "You are the prettiest, silliest villainess I've ever met."

"You're making me blush," I smiled, fanning myself with the oven mitt before smacking Sebastian again. "Season." I ordered.

A few days later, a new headline came streaming in. "Ricoletti evades capture." Peter Ricoletti, the man we had gotten to kidnap the banker, had just been caught. We had set him up, just like we were setting Sherlock up. I was skimming through the article as Jim and I sat in the living room for brunch. I noticed something in the article that made me bark out a laugh.

"They called John a 'confirmed bachelor'." I chuckled.

Jim looked at me, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, not understanding what I found so funny.

"It's a Victorian euphemism for homosexual." I told him. "I wonder if they'll release an exclusive detailing his long string of girlfriends. He'll go from confirmed bachelor to heartbreaker in three seconds flat."

Jim chuckled, resting his head on the back of the armchair.

"Thinking about our next dastardly plan?" I grinned at him.

"Something like that," he replied, closing his eyes.

I didn't find out what he was planning until another couple of days. I woke up alone, something that had become an absolute rare occurrence, and shuffled downstairs.

"Jim?" I called, looking in all the rooms.

"He's not here," I heard Sebastian, his voice coming from the living room, the one room I hadn't checked yet.

I walked in to find him sitting in an armchair, flipping through that morning's newspaper.

"Where is he?" I asked.

"Tower of London." Sebastian said, not looking at me.

"Why is he there?"

Sebastian didn't answer. In fact, he didn't even look at me, keeping his eyes trained on the newspaper in front of him.

"Sebastian," I said in my mothering tone. "Look at me."

He hesitated a moment before lowering the paper, looking at me cautiously.

"Why is he at the Tower of London?" I questioned lowly.

"Remember the last time he planned his own capture?"

"Oh no, tell me he's not doing it again."

Sebastian smiled guiltily, "Uh, that's not all…"

"What do you mean that's not all?" I raised an eyebrow, my lips pursed in anger.

"He may be doing something bigger than an average theft to get attention…" He noticed my expression. "It's all part of the plan!"

He raised his hands defensively, the newspaper crumbling in his lap.

"Mmhm," I replied, the expression not leaving my face. "I'm going to go get a shower. You'll let me know what's going on when I get out, right ?"

"Yeah, of course," Sebastian replied, his eyebrows raised slightly in nervousness.

/

Tourists walk about the grounds of the Tower of London, looking around, talking to the Beefeaters, taking photographs. Jim knew he blended in perfectly, wearing jeans, trainers, a light grey jacket and a cap with "London" printed on it and with a union flag on the peak. He felt absolutely uncomfortable in this outfit, wanting nothing more to be in a suit. But, this was neither the time nor the place. He aimed his camera phone around, pretending to takr pictures like all the others, but focused his attention on the security staff. He lowered his phone, chewing nonchalantly on a piece of gum, as he looked at the sign pointing the way to the Crown Jewels. A sly grin came on his face as he walked towards the White Tower.

_Showtime_, he thought to himself.

At the White Tower, tourists passed through a metal detector on their way to see the Crown Jewels. Jim walked through the detector which beeped an alarm.

"Excuse me, sir." A security man stopped him.

Jim stopped and stepped back again, still chewing on his gum.

"Any metal objects – keys, mobile phones?"

Jim made a show of smiling apologetically, taking his phone out of his pocket and putting it into the tray.

"You can go through." The security man told him.

Jim stepped through the detector once more, the machine staying silent this time. The security man slid the tray across and Jim took his phone back.

"Thank you." The man said as Jim walked off.

Jim entered his target room, stopping at the large display case in the middle of the room and looking at the throne inside the case. On the throne was a red velvet cushion with an ornate crown resting on it. An equally ornate orb was balanced on one arm of the throne and a scepter rested across the other arm. As other tourists walked around the case, Jim took a pair of earphones from his pocket and poked them into his ears. Bending his head from side to side to crack his neck, he lifted his phone and switched it on, closing his eyes in bliss, still rolling his head on his neck and spreading his arms either side of him. He slowly began to lower his arms as the Overture to Rossini's 'The Thieving Magpie' began to play.

He lifted his phone and scrolled through the app icons on it. He pushed aside the one that had a cartoon of a prisoner with striped prison clothes and standing behind bars, scrolled past the one of a piggy bank with the English flag on it, and selected the one with a crown on it. The icon of the crown unfolded like a padlock being unlocked and the loading bar filled to completion. He grinned, knowing somewhere the surveillance room alarms would be beginning to beep in warning as some of the TV screens went blank. An automated voice played into the White Tower, barely audible over the music in his ears.

"This is an emergency. Please leave the building." The voice repeated.

The tourists started to hurry out of the room. A security guard walked over to Jim, assuming that he couldn't hear the alarm through his earphones, and put a hand on his shoulder to attract his attention.

"Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." The man said.

Jim turned and sprayed an aerosol based tranquilizer in the man's face, causing him to immediately collapse unconscious. The security door closed and locked, leaving Jim completely alone, with the exception of the comatose man on the floor.

Jim took his cap off and smoothed his hair out before scrolling through the apps on his phone once more, this time selecting the English piggy bank. The piggy bank broke open to reveal many gold coins, the loading bar once again filling up. He grinned, knowing the vaults of the Bank of England were now opening.

Jim scrawled a message onto the glass of the display case, still chomping on his gum. Finishing the message, he drew a smiley face inside the letter "O". Lifting his phone once more, he selected the app with the prisoner on it. The bars over the prisoner lifted away and the striped jacket which the icon is wearing turned into a plain black one, then the image changed to a keyhole. Absolute mayhem would be breaking out at Pentonville Prison as their security systems failed.

Jim held his piece of chewing gum between his teeth, pulling the end of it out towards the case and sticking it onto the glass. Leaving the whole piece of gum stuck there, he took a tiny diamond from a box and, grinning manically, carefully pressed the jewel into the gum. Turning away from the case, he slipped his jacket off and dropped it to the floor as he raised his arms upwards either side above his head in an almost balletic flourish. Any minute now, police cars and vans would begin to pour into the Tower grounds, but he felt as if he had all the time in the world. He continued to dance around the White Tower while the last of the tourists were probably hustled out of the building. Pulling black leather mitts onto his hands, Jim walked to the wall and picked up a fire extinguisher. He danced dramatically towards the case, raising the fire extinguisher with the bottom end pointed towards the glass and, grinning happily, rammed it towards the chewing gum and diamond. The glass shattered around the impact point. He smashed the extinguisher into the glass a couple more times and eventually the entire pane disintegrated and fell to the floor.

Jim stepped into the case, careful to avoid the remaining jagged edges of the pane. He wrapped himself in the ermine trimmed robe and placed the crown on his head. He draped the scepter across his lap and placed the orb between his legs and, eyes closed and earphones still in place, waited for the police to arrive. Mere seconds later they burst into the room. He smiled softly in bliss as the music came to an end. He opened his eyes and smiled at the new arrivals.

"No rush." He told them calmly.

/

Sebastian's phone buzzed as I walked back into the living room, dressed in proper clothes, my hair damp from the shower. He was seated in the same place I had left him.

"Well, it's done. He's just been arrested." Sebastian told me, not looking up from his phone.

"What for?" I asked, not completely wanting the answer.

"Attempting to steal the Crown Jewels, breaking into the Bank of England and Pentonville Prison."

"And why the fuck wasn't I informed?" I yelled, slamming my hands on the armrests of the chair, getting dangerously close to Sebastian's face.

"He didn't want to risk you talking him out of it." Sebastian half stammered.

"Damn straight I would have. What now?" I remained in my stance.

"He goes to court."

"WHAT?"

"It's all part of the plan!"

"It better be," I growled, releasing my grip on the armrests and walking out to the kitchen.

"You're scary when you're mad," Sebastian called after me.

"Good," was all I said in reply.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I want to say a huge thank you to you guys for being so patient with me. "More Than.." is probably going to be updated a bit faster (and more often) than this because I have more of the episode to work off of. That being said, I'm going to try to make these updates as consistent as I can.**

**CrazyCousinEiko: I literally said 'holy shit' out loud when I saw your review. Thank you so much! The reason I churn out chapters so quickly stems a lot from the fact that I'll borrow bits from unpublished fics of mine and rework them and write as new material as much as I can. I currently have the next three chapters in the Doc Manager, just chilling and waiting for random bits to be added in. And yes, I'll be continuing after the Fall.  
**

* * *

The "Daily Express" had somehow obtained the security image with Jim's 'GET SHERLOCK' message and ran it on its front page with the headline: "Crime of the Century?" I skimmed through the text, not really caring what it said.

_Questions are being asked in parliament as to how the Tower of London, Pentonville Prison and the Bank of England were all broken into at the same time by the same man – James Moriarty. There are unconfirmed reports that Scotland Yard's favorite sleuth Mr. Sherlock Holmes has been called in to help the team piece together the most audacious crime ... Turn to page 5._

I sighed, tossing the newspaper aside and grabbing the "Daily Mail", reading the headline "Jewel Thief on trial at Bailey"

_Crown Jewel thief is to be tried at the Old Bailey and Sherlock Holmes is named as a witness for the prosecution. Master criminal Moriarty taunted Holmes with his graffitied GET SHERLOCK at the scene of the crime. The crime is attracting huge attention internationally too. Irish born Moriarty – of no fixed abode, seems to be taunting the master detective. Boffin Holmes, accompanied by confirmed bachelor John Watson – refused to comment. Crowds gathered yesterday for what is being described as the trial of the century._

"Well at least they don't know where we live," I muttered, tossing that paper away and grabbing "The Guardian".

The headline read 'Amateur detective to be called as expert witness" with the strapline "Scotland Yard calls upon 'nation's favorite detective' in Moriarty trial."

_In a twist worthy of a Conan Doyle novella, Mr. Sherlock Holmes was yesterday revealed to be an expert witness at the trial of 'Jim' Moriarty. Described by many commentators as the trial of the century, the case has all the ingredients of a block buster film. The royal family, Scotland Yard, the world of finance and greed, the 'underclass' of prisoners out to wreak revenge as they enjoy their own fifteen minutes of freedom. The case is riddled with irony and intrigue but perhaps reflects a deeper malaise that seems to be at the heart of a society. Mr. Holmes, a man of few words, declined to comment when asked his involvement in the case. It is understood that a woefully depleted Scotland …_

I groaned, flinging that paper away too as I slumped into the armchair I was seated in. It was the day of Jim's trial, and I had dressed in a simple black dress with a cinched blazer on top, completed with the jewelry Jim and my parents had gotten me for Christmas. I pinched the bridge of my nose; I wished this ordeal hadn't happened.

"Ma'am?" I heard from the doorway.

Griffiths stood there in his normal driver's attire.

"It's time." He told me solemnly.

I sighed heavily as Griffiths drove me to the courthouse. I really wanted Sebastian to come with me, but for safety reasons he couldn't.

"It'll be alright, ma'am," Griffith's told me as we neared the building. "I doubt Mr. Moriarty plans on going to jail."

"Do you really think he can get out of this?" I asked nervously.

Griffiths smiled, "He has ways that are a mystery to me, but once he sets his mind to something there's no telling what he can do."

I returned the smile, taking in a steadying breath as Griffiths opened the door for me. I walked past the press pack, hearing snippets of their reports.

"... here today standing outside ..." I heard from ITN "... of attempting to steal the Crown Jewels ..."

"... This is the trial of the century ..." came from Sky News, "... James Moriarty, earlier today accused of attempt..."

"... the trial of James Moriarty ..." the reporter from BBC News said, "... at the Old Bailey we have Reichenbach Hero Sherlock Holmes ..."

"Miss Remus!" I heard from behind me.

I turned around, seeing the reporter from Sky News gesturing out towards me.

"May we have an interview?" He asked.

"Oh, um, sure," I replied, walking over and standing next to him.

"Thank you," he smiled at me before turning back to the camera. "We're joined here today with Miss Diana Remus, neighbor and friend of the famous detective Sherlock Holmes."

_Huh, they don't know I moved out._ I thought to myself.

"Miss Remus, what are your thoughts on today's trial?"

"Well, it's certainly the trial of the century," I smiled falsely, echoing his words from earlier. "It's remarkable how he managed to commit all three crimes at once, but then again he is being hailed as a criminal mastermind. There's no telling what he's able to do."

"And do you think he'll be convicted?"

"There's quite a lot of evidence against him, isn't there? I mean, there's security footage of him breaking into the case that held the crown jewels. I think there's a very good chance of conviction."

"Thank you for your time, Miss Remus," the reporter smiled at me.

"You're very welcome," I replied, my smile fading as I walked away.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I saw a text from Sebastian.

**Saw you live on Sky News – SM**

**Shut it. – DR**

**You looked nice. – SM**

**Seriously, Sebastian. I don't want to hear it. – DR**

**Di, will you calm down? Jim would be proud. You played it off really well. – SM**

**Just make it through the trial. He'll be home before you know it. – SM**

**Thanks. – DR **

I walked up to the public gallery and saw John already sitting there.

"Diana," he sounded surprised when he saw me.

"Hey John," I smiled, sitting next to him.

"I'm actually surprised to see you here."

"John, Moriarty almost blew you up. Do you really think I'd miss this?"

He grinned slightly, "Thanks for coming. I missed you." He gave me a small hug, which I returned gratefully.

"I missed you too." I looked around, noticing a very significant figure missing. "Where's Sherlock?"

"He's in the toilets right now, but he'll be sitting down there when the trial starts. He's the star witness and all."

"Oh," I nodded, "Right."

From down below, Jim was brought into the room by his prison escorts and brought to the dock. As a female prison officer came across to check his restraints, he turned his head and murmurs into her ear. I could just barely hear what he was saying.

"Would you mind slipping your hand into my pocket?"

The officer looked at one of her male colleagues, who nodded in agreement. Looking rather uncomfortable, she slid her fingers into Jim's trouser pocket and pulled out the contents as Jim breathed very close to her face and gazed into her eyes before poking his tongue out. She put what she had found in his pocket – a piece of chewing gum – onto his tongue and he drew his tongue back in and began to chew, smiling at her creepily.

"Thanks."

Jim looked up at the gallery, noticing where I was seated and raised his eyebrows, still grinning from what he had done. I pursed my lips at him, rather annoyed.

"What a creep," John muttered.

I merely humphed in response.

When the trial finally started, Sherlock was called to give his evidence and stood in the witness box. Jim was still nonchalantly chewing on his gum, standing in the dock opposite him.

"A consulting criminal." The prosecuting barrister stated.

"Yes." Sherlock answered briefly.

"Your words. Can you expand on that answer?"

"James Moriarty is for hire."

"A tradesman?"

"Yes."

"But not the sort who'd fix your heating."

"No, the sort who'd plant a bomb or stage an assassination, but I'm sure he'd make a pretty decent job of your boiler."

There was muffled laughter from some people in the court, and the prosecuting barrister tried to hide her smile.

"Would you describe him as ..."

"Leading." Sherlock interrupted her.

"What?"

"Can't do that. You're leading the witness." Sherlock looked towards the defending barrister. "He'll object and the judge will uphold."

The judge gave an exasperated sigh. This wasn't the first time Sherlock had done this during his evidence. John stiffened slightly and I put a hand on his wrist, seemingly to comfort him. Secretly, though, I wanted Sherlock to aggravate the people in the court. Maybe it would bring Jim home faster.

"Mr. Holmes." The judge warned.

"Ask me how." Sherlock said to the prosecuting barrister. "How would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him? Do they not teach you this?"

"Mr. Holmes, we're fine without your help." The judge told him.

A woman came into the gallery, natural ginger hair and mousy look about her. John and I looked round at her as she found a seat.

"How would you describe this man – his character?" The prosecuting barrister asked.

"First mistake. "Sherlock raised his eyes and locked his gaze onto Jim. "James Moriarty isn't a man at all – he's a spider; a spider at the center of a web – a criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances."

Jim nodded almost imperceptibly in approval of the description. The prosecuting barrister cleared her throat awkwardly.

"And how long ..."

"No, no, don't-don't do that." Sherlock closed his eyes, exasperated. "That's really not a good question."

"Mr. Holmes." The judge said angrily.

"How long have I known him? Not really your best line of enquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun; he tried to blow me up." Sherlock's tone took on a sarcastic air. "I felt we had a special something."

Jim raised his eyebrows in an "ooh!" expression.

"Miss Sorrel," the judge spoke to the prosecuting barrister, "are you seriously claiming this man is an expert, after knowing the accused for just five minutes?"

"Two minutes would have made me an expert. Five was ample." Sherlock informed him.

"Mr. Holmes, that's a matter for the jury."

"Oh, really?"

Sherlock turned his eyes towards the jury box. John raised his hand to his head in the all-too-recognizable "oh, shit, NO!" gesture. I grinned slightly, hoping this would be the slip up I wanted. Sherlock turned the full force of his gaze onto the twelve people sitting in the jury box and deduced all of them within a couple of seconds.

"One librarian; two teachers; two high-pressured jobs, probably the City." He focused on the woman at the far left of the front row. She had a notebook resting on the ledge in front of her, "The foreman's a medical secretary, trained abroad judging by her shorthand."

"Mr. Holmes!" the judge warned again.

Sherlock scanned the rings on the jury members' fingers, "Seven are married and two are having an affair – with each other, it would seem! Oh, and they've just had tea and biscuits." He turned to the judge. "Would you like to know who ate the wafer?"

"Mr. Holmes." The judge was livid now. "You've been called here to answer Miss Sorrel's questions, not to give us a display of your intellectual prowess."

Sherlock took a breath but couldn't help smiling a little at the acknowledgement of his 'intellectual prowess'. John stared at him sternly. I kept my gaze as emotionless as I could.

"Keep your answers brief and to the point. Anything else will be treated as contempt. Do you think you could survive for just a few minutes without showing off?"

Sherlock paused as he gave the question some thought, then opened his mouth.

And that's how Sherlock ended up being put into custody. Because of that, the case would be concluded the following day. John walked me out of the building and down to where Griffiths was waiting by the car.

"So, this is your personal driver, eh?" John asked, giving Griffiths the once over.

"That he is. Are you going to bail Sherlock out now?"

John sighed, "I should let him cool his heels in the holding cell, but I'll get hell from him if I don't get him out."

I chuckled and rolled my eyes.

"Are you going to come tomorrow?" John asked.

I shrugged, "Probably. I want to find out the verdict just as much as you do."

_If not more._

John nodded, "Alright. I'll see you there."

He gave me a small hug before going off to release Sherlock.

"How was it?" Griffiths asked as we drove home.

I was slumped in the backseat, my fingers rubbing my temples.

"Fucking awful," I muttered. A thought jolted in my brain and I snapped up, leaning towards the driver's seat. "He flirted with a female police officer. Fucking flirted with her!"

Griffiths chuckled. "And what was he supposed to do? Blow kisses and recite the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet to you?"

"The hell are you on about?"

"He's the most dangerous man in London, and he has to play it up for the cameras. He can't act like you're used to him acting; that's not the Moriarty everyone wants to see. He has to act like a scumbag because that's what everyone is expecting."

I huffed, slumping back in the seat.

"Still, he didn't have to flirt with her."

Griffiths chuckled again, "Are you jealous, ma'am?"

"Oh hush, Griffiths." I playfully swatted him.

When I got back home, the only thing I wanted to do was take a nice long bath, but apparently Sebastian had other ideas. As soon as I walked in, Sebastian cornered me and began grilling me about the day's events.

"What happened?"

"Jesus, Sebastian. Can I get out of these clothes first?"

"No, tell me."

"Why are you so concerned? Weren't you the one telling me this was all according to plan?"

"Yes, and the next phase of the plan all depends on what you tell me so spill."

I groaned, "Sherlock mouthed off as usual and was arrested for contempt of court. The verdict's coming tomorrow."

"Perfect," Sebastian said, walking into the dining room.

"And why is it perfect?" I asked, following him.

He walked over to a laptop perched on the table. "The jurors are being put in a hotel for tonight. The Westhampton Hotel, to be exact. Their televisions sets are being put on a special circuit to prevent them from accessing news stations or anything that could sway their decision."

"Okay, so what does that mean?"

He sat in front of the laptop and typed in a command. A picture came up on the screen, an edited version of the Westhampton Hotel's Information Service. At the top of the page a message read _**Hello Ms. Williams**_. Sebastian pressed a button and the information underneath instantly changed to a photograph of two young children and a baby. A message in red above the photograph reads, _**IF YOU WANT YOUR BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN TO STAY BEAUTIFUL THEN FOLLOW MY INSTRUCTIONS**_.

"What the fuck?" I breathed.

"We've got similar ones in every juror's room, set to all go on automatically at 9pm tonight. We've got people at the hotel to make sure they're all in their rooms. Each one is tailored individually for each juror."

"So we're blackmailing them to find Jim not guilty?"

"Precisely."

"Jesus," I was astounded. "He really thinks of everything…"


	17. Chapter 17

**CrazyCousinEiko and onelifeonedirection: As much as I want to own up to being a 'legend' and awesome for including the Conan Doyle reference, I'm afraid I can't. That's something actually included in the episode. I'm just obsessed with accurace and freeze-framed the newspapers to get all the words right. The real brilliant ones are, as always, the writers of the show (as well as Gatiss and Moffat).  
**

**And, as always, I am astounded by everyone's reception of this story. And yes, going along with popular belief, things are going to fall to shit after the fall. You're probably going to hate me for the mindfucks I'll be handing out...**

* * *

The next day, I sat by John once more in the public gallery in the Old Bailey.

"Mr. Crayhill, can we have your first witness?" The judge asked the defending barrister.

The defending barrister rose to his feet. "Your Honor, we're not calling any witnesses."

There were cries of surprise around the court. John frowned in confusion. I struggled to keep my face as calm as possible.

"I don't follow." The judge said. "You've entered a plea of Not Guilty."

"Nevertheless, my client is offering no evidence. The defense rests." He sat down.

Jim pursed his lips ruefully at the judge, then turned and looks up to John and me, shrugging at us.

The judge began summing-up speech. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. James Moriarty stands accused of several counts of attempted burglary, crimes which – if he's found guilty – will elicit a very long custodial sentence; and yet his legal team has chosen to offer no evidence whatsoever to support their plea. I find myself in the unusual position of recommending a verdict wholeheartedly. You must find him guilty."

The court adjourned at 10:42. At 10:50, the Clerk of the Court hurried out of a side room up to John and me as we sat on a bench just outside the courtroom.

"They're coming back." He said as he rushed past us.

John looked at his watch. "That's six minutes."

"Surprised it took them that long, to be honest. There's a queue for the loo."

He hurried into the court. John and I exchanged a look before standing up, John took a moment to brace himself and we followed. A few minutes later the Clerk rose to his feet in the courtroom and turned to face the jury.

"Have you reached a verdict on which you all agree?" He asked.

One of the jury members lowered his head and shook it in tiny despairing motions as the foreman stood to her feet and stared at the Clerk unhappily.

"Not Guilty." John raged into his phone. "They found him Not Guilty. No defense, and Moriarty's walked free."

We were descending the steps of the Old Bailey. I saw Griffiths standing at the car expectantly as we neared him, John still speaking to Sherlock on his phone.

"Sherlock. Are you listening? He's out. You-you know he'll be coming after you. Sher..."

John lowered his phone, glaring at it.

"He hung up on me."

"You really think Moriarty will go after him?" I asked John.

"I think so." John replied grimly.

My text alert went off, and I pulled my phone out of my bag.

**I'll meet you at home. I have some unfinished business to attend to. – JM**

I groaned, "I'm sorry, John. I have to go. There's some kind of business emergency I have to attend to."

He nodded, giving me a quick hug.

"Take care of yourself," I told him as I got into the car.

He gave a small wave as I drove off, and I was left worrying about what Jim was planning on doing.

/

Jim picked the lock to 221B Baker Street, pushing it open to hear Bach's Sonata No. 1 in G minor. Slowly he began to walk along the hall and up the stairs. Partway up, one of the stairs creaked noisily and Jim paused for a moment, as does Sherlock's playing. A couple of seconds later Sherlock resumed from a few notes before where he stopped and Jim started to climb the stairs again. Jim reached the door and pushed it open, standing in the doorframe. Sherlock again stops playing, not yet turning around.

"Most people knock." Sherlock shrugs. "But then you're not most people, I suppose." He gestured over his shoulder with his bow towards the table. "Kettle's just boiled."

Jim walked further into the room and bent to pick up an apple from the bowl on the coffee table.

"Johann Sebastian would be appalled." He told Sherlock, tossing the apple and catching it.

He looked around the living room as if searching for a seat.

"May I?"

Sherlock finally turned to face him, "Please."

He gestured with the end of his bow towards John's chair. Jim immediately walked over to Sherlock's chair and sat in that one instead. He smiled internally as he saw Sherlock looking slightly unnerved. Jim took out a small penknife and started to cut into the apple as Sherlock put his violin and began to pour tea into the cups.

"You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces." Jim began, not taking his eyes off the apple. "The boy stopped before he got to the end ..."

"... and the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it." Sherlock finished.

"Couldn't cope with an unfinished melody."

"Neither can you. That's why you've come."

"But be honest: you're just a tiny bit pleased."

"What, with the verdict?" Sherlock asked, picking up one of the teacups and adding a splash of milk.

He turned and offered the cup to Jim, who sat up straighter to take it.

"With me ..." Jim lowered his voice, "... back on the streets." He gazed up into Sherlock's eyes, smiling. "Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain."

He kept grinning as Sherlock turned away to add milk to his own cup.

"You need me, or you're nothing. Because we're just alike, you and I – except you're boring." Jim shook his head in disappointment. "You're on the side of the angels."

He sipped his tea as Sherlock picked up his own cup and stirred his drink.

"Got to the jury, of course."

"I got into the Tower of London; you think I can't worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?"

"Cable network."

"Every hotel bedroom has a personalized TV screen and every person has their pressure point; someone that they want to protect from harm. Easy-peasy."

Sherlock sat down in John's chair, lifting his cup close to his mouth. "So how're you going to do it ..." He blew pointedly but gently on his tea. "... burn me?"

"Oh, that's the problem – the final problem. Have you worked out what it is yet?" Jim asked softly.

Sherlock took a sip of his tea and looked across his cup to the other man.

"What's the final problem?" Jim smiled across his cup. "I did tell you ...but did you listen?" He took another sip of tea and then put the cup down into the saucer. Settling his hand onto his knee, he started to idly drum his fingers. Sherlock's eyes lowered to watch the movement. "How hard do you find it, having to say 'I don't know'?"

Sherlock put his cup into its saucer and shrugs, attempting nonchalance. "I dunno."

"Oh, that's clever; that's very clever; awfully clever." Jim chuckled in an upper class tone as Sherlock smiled humorlessly as he put his cup back onto the tray. "Speaking of clever, have you told your little friends yet?"

"Told them what?"

"Why I broke into all those places and never took anything."

"No."

"But you understand."

"Obviously."

"Off you go, then." Jim told him, putting a piece of the apple he's carved off into his mouth with the flat of the penknife.

"You want me to tell you what you already know?" Sherlock asked.

"No; I want you to prove that you know it."

"You didn't take anything because you don't need to."

"Good." Jim said softly.

"You'll never need to take anything ever again."

"Very good. Because ...?"

"Because nothing ... nothing in the Bank of England, the Tower of London or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three."

"I can open any door anywhere with a few tiny lines of computer code. No such thing as a private bank account now – they're all mine. No such thing as secrecy – I own secrecy. Nuclear codes – I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king; and honey, you should see me in a crown." Jim smiled in delight at Sherlock.

"You were advertising all the way through the trial. You were showing the world what you can do."

"And you were helping. Big client list: rogue governments, intelligence communities ... terrorist cells. They all want me." He lifted another piece of apple to his mouth with the penknife. "Suddenly, I'm Mr. Sex."

"If you could break any bank, what do you care about the highest bidder?"

"I don't. I just like to watch them all competing. 'Daddy loves me the best!' Aren't ordinary people adorable? Well, you know: you've got John. I should get myself a live-in one."

"Why are you doing all of this?"

"It'd be so funny." Jim mused, still thinking about having a live-in ordinary person, "Of course, Diana might get jealous."

He looked up, seeing the look of surprise on his face.

"Oh, didn't I mention it before? I'm the boyfriend she moved in with. Pity you didn't take her when you had the chance. She's quite the extraordinary woman."

Sherlock clenched his jaw slightly, directing the conversation back to where it was, "You don't want money or power – not really."

Jim dug the point of his penknife into the apple.

"What is it all for?"

Jim sat forward and spoke softly, "I want to solve the problem – our problem; the final problem." He lowered his head. "It's gonna start very soon, Sherlock: the fall. But don't be scared. Falling's just like flying except there's a more permanent destination."

Raising his head slowly, he glowered across at Sherlock, who bared his teeth slightly and stood up to buttons his jacket.

"Never liked riddles." Sherlock told him.

Jim stood up as well, and straightening his jacket and locking his gaze onto Sherlock's eyes.

"Learn to. Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. For me, and for her. For whatever you said to make her cry, I owe you a fall. I ... owe ... you."

He continued to gaze at Sherlock, sealing his promise, then slowly turned and walked away.

/

Jim didn't tell me what happened when he went to see Sherlock. Every time I asked, he just kissed me and told me not to worry about it.

The next morning the "Daily Express" front page headline screamed "MORIARTY WALKS FREE" with the strapline "Shock verdict at Old Bailey trial". The opening paragraph read: _The Judge could only look on dumbfounded as the Jury found 'Jimbo' Moriarty 'Not Guilty'. Gasps were heard around the courtroom as the Jury declared their verdict._

I set it aside and picked up the "The Guardian", which declared "Shock verdict at trial".

_In an unbelievable turn of events Moriarty walked free today after putting up no defense at all for what has been described as the Trial of the Century. Star witness Sherlock Holmes was not present for the verdict as in another twist to the case was thrown out of court by the Judge. Questions have been asked in Parliament and the Prime Minister was quoted as saying 'This is a disgrace, a sign if ever we needed one that broken Britain is still broken...'_

The "Daily Star" asked "How was he ever acquitted?"

Sometime later "The Guardian" declared "Moriarty vanishes" while on one of its inside pages was a cartoon caricature of Sherlock holding a crystal ball with the caption underneath reading, "What Next for the Reichenbach Hero?"

I threw the newspapers aside. Jim had been dormant for weeks. He and Sebastian had been planning something and I wasn't allowed to be involved with. It was actually starting to piss me off.

/

"I still don't understand why we can't involve Diana in this one." Jim said as he and Sebastian were planning their latest misdeed.

Sebastian sighed, "Trust me, boss. It wouldn't be a good idea."

"You were the one saying we should include her in the business. So why shut her out now? It doesn't make any sense, Sebastian."

"Look, if you want to go through with this, you can't involve Diana. She'd do everything in her power to make you change your mind."

Jim stared at Sebastian, making sure his right hand man was telling the truth.

"Alright," Jim finally acquiesced. "If you say so."

/

Two months had passed since the trial. I was still being shut out of the newest plan, and I had taken to giving Jim and Sebastian the silent treatment. I was walking back from going shoe shopping when my text alert went off.

**New case. – SH**

I frowned. Since when did Sherlock want me to come along with a case?

**Okay…what does that have to do with me? – DR**

**Figured you'd be interested in helping. – SH**

**Why would I when you haven't even told me what it's about. – DR**

**Kidnapped children of an ambassador. They might be in danger. – SH**

I froze, my hand unmoving on the doorknob to the house. A million thoughts were running through my head. Jim and Sebastian were most likely behind it.

_No, they couldn't be. _

_They could. _

I took a steadying breath and typed in the response.

**I'll see what I can do. – DR**

I burst into the house, slamming the door behind me. I discarded my bags to the side of the door and stormed into the dining hall. Jim and Sebastian looked up in surprise when I ripped the door open.

"Tell me what you've been planning doesn't involve children." I demanded fiercely.

Neither man moved.

"Tell me!"

"I'm sorry, Diana." Sebastian apologized, guilt covering his face.

"You knew? You fucking knew and didn't tell me?" I was livid as I walked over to them.

"We had to do it. It's the only way to create doubt against him."

"The only way?" My voice was loud, cracking with anger. "They're fucking children, not pawns in your goddamn little game!"

"I don't get what the big deal is," Jim finally said.

I turned toward him slowly, my eyes still burning in anger. "Excuse me?"

"They were just children." He shrugged.

"Not to their parents!" I yelled fiercely. "You don't know what it's like for a parent to lose their child! It rips you apart from the inside out, and god help me if those children die your neck will be snapped before you can say oops."

Somewhere during my tirade I had started crying.

"Why do you care about them?" He asked, his tone softening only slightly. "You don't even know them."

"Because I lost a child." I spat. "Only I didn't have the luxury of someone kidnapping them. My own body killed them. That's why I care."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't know," I laughed acidly. "You're so focused on planning Sherlock's ruin that you've become obsessed! It's just fucking crazy!"

"That isn't fair," Jim said, rising from his seat.

"Fair? You want to talk about fair? Try talking about fairness to those poor scared children or the parents that are desperate to get their child back!"

I stormed back towards the door, wanting nothing more than to get out of Jim's presence.

"Diana!" He called after me.

I turned around just as I reached the door, "If those children die, we're done. I'll turn you over to the police myself."

I slammed the doors behind me, bounding up the stairs to hide in bathwater.

/

As soon as Diana slammed the door, Jim turned and shot an icy glare at Sebastian.

"I cannot believe you didn't fucking tell me she had a miscarriage."

"I tried to," Sebastian defended. "After I looked her up. You wouldn't let me tell you."

"And you think finding out this way was a good thing?"

"You were the one who was so insistent on doing it this way!" Sebastian yelled. "I told you not to involve her for this very reason."

Jim clenched his jaw, resisting the strong urge to tear Sebastian's jaw off. "If this costs me my relationship, you'll be out of a job. And without a head."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Gosh, you guys are amazing! Seriously, you are!**

**onelifeonedirection: I was playing with the idea of having Jim be more understanding, but then I realized he would see it as her overreacting. Also, Sherlock couldn't really react when Jim told him; he was more concerned with finding out what Jim was planning. Sherlock dealing with Diana as Jim's girlfriend would be put off until after Jim left.  
**

* * *

I sat in the bathwater, my knees pulled up to my chin. The water had long since gone cold and my fingers and toes were wrinkled to the extreme. I wiped away a stray tear as someone knocked on the bathroom door.

"What?" I snapped.

"Diana, can I please come in?" I heard Jim ask from the other side of the door.

"I don't know, are the kids safe?"

He sighed, "They just got put into the ambulance."

I pursed my lips, hesitating for a moment.

"Fine."

He opened the door and walked in, sitting down beside the bathtub.

"Diana, I think it's time I told you everything."

I laughed humorlessly. "Oh, you think?"

He looked down, a slight look of guilt crossing his face.

"Firs off, I want to say I'm sorry about not telling you about the kid thing. I didn't know you had a miscarriage and if I did I would have found another way. I promise."

I looked at him, he dark eyes boring into mine.

"I forgive you."

He smiled sadly, brushing his fingertips across my cheek.

"You, um," He cleared his throat. "You know how I've been spending some late nights out, even though I was always here when you woke up?"

"Yeah," I said warily.

"I've sort of been leading a double life."

My eyes widen as my face attempted to hold back the anger that was threatening to seep across my features.

"What do you mean 'a double life'?"

"There's a journalist named Kitty Riley. I created a new persona, Richard Brook, and went to her claiming Sherlock hired me to play Moriarty."

"Go on."

"I've had to stay at her place a couple nights, pretending to be scared Sherlock will find me and kill me. Once Sherlock gets taken into custody tonight, I have no doubt that he'll pull some escape move and go to her place to demand where she got the information for her tell-all about him."

"Why are you telling me this now?" I demanded. "You could've just carried this on until the end and I could have been none the wiser."

Jim sighed, "I don't like keeping things from you."

I breathed out heavily, staring at the water. "What have you done while at her place?"

"Just pretended to be in a relationship with her to get her to trust me."

I clenched my teeth slightly, "Have you fucked her?"

"What?" He asked incredulously. "No. No, of course not."

I turned to him, "But you've kissed her, right."

"Just enough to make her believe the lie," Jim protested.

I laughed coldly, "Jesus, Jim. You're a fucking piece of work you know that."

I made to get out of the water, but Jim put his hands on my shoulders to stop me.

"Diana, please," he pleaded.

Begrudgingly I sunk back into the water.

He sighed, "I have never felt for any woman what I feel for you." He brushed a stray piece of hair from my eyes. "You scare me to death sometimes, you know that?"

I just looked at him, unsure of what to say.

"But I fucking love you, you extraordinary, maddening woman."

Without waiting for a response he pressed his lips to mine in a fierce kiss, gently pulling me in closer with his hand on the back of my neck. I threw my arms around his neck, neither of us caring that I was getting his clothes wet.

"I love you too," I breathed as we pulled away.

He smiled, placing another kiss on my lips, then on my cheek, and my forehead.

"When this is over with, you and I are going to live a normal life. I promise you," he murmured against my skin.

I smiled, humming contentedly against his lips.

"I have to be out, tonight." He said as he pulled back. "Lots of seeds of distrust to plant."

"You're coming back tonight, though. Right?"

He smiled, kissing me again.

"Nothing could keep me away."

/

Jim got out of the cab he had been driving that night, changing his clothes and ruffling his hair as the new cabbie took his place. He grabbed the bag of groceries the man had brought for him out of the back seat.

"I'm sorry, sir," the man said. "They only had the normal kind of coffee."

Jim rolled his eyes and the man's stupidity, "You get off, just this once."

The man thanked him endlessly as Jim walked up to Kitty's flat, opening the door and pretending not to see either Sherlock or John standing there, though he was fully aware of their presence.

"Darling, they didn't have any ground coffee so I just got normal ..." He started, looking up and making a show of being terrified.

Sherlock and John's eyes widened as they saw Jim standing there. Jim dropped the shopping bag and backed away until he bumped into the wall behind him, holding his hands up protectively in front of him.

"You said that they wouldn't find me here." He said, making his voice tremble. "You said that I'd be safe here."

"You are safe, Richard." Kitty told him. "I'm a witness. He wouldn't harm you in front of witnesses."

John, his face full of shock, pointed at Jim.

"So that's your source?" He directed his question to Kitty. "Moriarty is Richard Brook?"

His teeth were bared and he glared at Jim, breathing heavily in pure fury.

"Of course he's Richard Brook. There is no Moriarty. There never has been."

"What are you talking about?"

"Look him up. Rich Brook – an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty."

Sherlock stared at Jim, who was still holding his hands up and looking at everyone nervously. Jim's voice was shaking as he turned to John.

"Doctor Watson, I know you're a good man." He backed into the corner of the room, appearing terrified under John's ferocious glare. "Don't ... don't h... Don't hurt me."

John pointed towards him furiously. "No, you are Moriarty!" He turned his head briefly towards Kitty. "He's Moriarty!" He turned back to Jim. "We've met, remember? You were gonna blow me up!"

Jim put his hands briefly over his face, then held them up in front of himself again, sounding as if he was almost crying in fear.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Jim gestured towards Sherlock. "He paid me. I needed the work. I'm an actor. I was out of work. I'm sorry, okay?"

Breathing heavily, John turned to Sherlock.

"Sherlock, you'd better ... explain ... because I am not getting this."

"Oh I'll ... I'll be doing the explaining – in print." Kitty said, handing John a folder. "It's all here – conclusive proof."

John looked at an early typed sheet of her upcoming article, then turned to the proof copy showing the layout of how it would appear in the newspaper, with spaces left for photographs. The headline read, "Sherlock's a fake!" with the strapline, "He invented all the crimes".

"You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis." Kitty said, looking at Sherlock.

"Invented him?" John questioned, upset.

"Mmm-hmm. Invented all the crimes, actually – and to cap it all, you made up a master villain."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!"

Kitty turned and pointed towards Jim.

"Ask him. He's right here! Just ask him. Tell him, Richard."

"Look, for God's sake, this man was on trial!" John was furious.

"Yes ..." She pointed at Sherlock, "... and you paid him; paid him to take the rap. Promised you'd rig the jury."

Sherlock stared at her silently.

"Not exactly a West End role, but I'll bet the money was good."

She walked over to Jim and put her arm around his shoulders as he stood with his hands still held out in front of himself.

"But not so good he didn't want to sell his story."

Jim looked plaintively at John, putting his hands together pleadingly.

"I am sorry. I am. I am sorry."

"So-so this is the story that you're gonna publish." John said to Kitty. "The big conclusion of it all: Moriarty's an actor?"

He shook his head in disbelief.

"He knows I am." Jim protested. "I have proof. I have proof. Show him, Kitty! Show him something!"

"Yeah, show me something." John told them.

Kitty walked across the room. John turned to watch her as she reached into a bag for more information. Behind them, Jim put his hands over his face, pulling them away from his eyes a little and looked towards Sherlock, whose own gaze had barely left him since he arrived. For a brief moment, he revealed his true self and smiled triumphantly at his enemy. Sherlock half-smiled back at him but there was no humor in his eyes. Kitty took out a folder, walking over to John and gave it to him.

Jim slipped back into his Richard persona, sounding plaintive and panicked as he spoke, "I'm on TV. I'm on kids' TV. I'm The Storyteller."

John looked at copies of Richard Brook's contact details apparently taken from an agency website, then a newspaper article showing a picture of Richard in glasses wearing medical scrubs and with a stethoscope around his neck. The article was headlined, 'Award Winning Actor Joins The Cast of Top Medical Drama'.

"I'm ... I'm The Storyteller. It's on DVD."

Jim looked across to Sherlock again, this time keeping his Richard face on. John continued looking through the folder at other publicity stills of Rich together with his CV. Jim gestured towards John, looking at Sherlock pleadingly.

"Just tell him. It's all coming out now. It's all over." His voice became more frantic. "Just tell them. Just tell them. Tell him!"

Baring his teeth, Sherlock began to walk towards him.

"It's all over now ... NO!" Jim cried.

He backed away from Sherlock and up a short flight of stairs towards the bedroom on the upper level of the flat. His eyes were wide and terrified.

"Don't you touch me! Don't you lay a finger on me!" Jim cried frantically.

"Stop it. Stop it NOW!" Sherlock growled furiously.

Jim turned and bolted up the stairs.

"Don't hurt me!"

Sherlock and John chased after him.

"Don't let him get away!" John yelled.

"Leave him alone!" Kitty called after them.

Jim ran into the bathroom on the other side of the bedroom. With Kitty still at the bottom of the stairs and therefore unsighted, and John halfway up the stairs with his vision blocked by Sherlock ahead of him, Jim turned and grins manically at Sherlock for a brief second before slamming the door shut. He clambered through the window and jumped out, landing on top of the trash bins. He ran towards the waiting cab and jumped in, the car speeding off into the night.

/

I sat in the living room, waiting impatiently for Jim to come back. With each passing minute, I grew a bit more worried. I had no idea what Jim was actually getting up to tonight, and I wasn't exactly too thrilled that he was at that Kitty girl's place. I pursed my lips at the thought of her, and decided that if I ever met her I'd blacken both her eyes.

"Still waiting up?" I heard from the door.

I turned, hoping to see Jim even though the voice belonged to Sebastian. My face fell slightly when I saw Sebastian was alone.

"Yeah," I sighed, sinking back into the chair.

Sebastian chuckled softly, walking over and sitting in the chair opposite me.

"Don't worry, he should be back any minute now."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"If things went according to plan, then it'll be about five minutes until he gets back."

I shook my head slightly.

"Are all of your plans this time centric?"

Sebastian shrugged, "Not all of them, but it helps when they are."

"Hmm," I replied, running a hand through my hair. "So why are you here so late? Don't you have your own apartment?"

Sebastian grinned, "I do. But you know how Jim is; he wants to make sure you're safe while he's away."

From outside the room we heard the front door open.

"Ah, Prince Charming is back," Sebastian grinned at me, rising from his seat.

I got up as well, walking out to the foyer to see Jim shedding the red cardigan he was wearing in disgust. When he caught sight of me, he smiled and walked over, encasing me in a hug.

"Well?" I asked.

"Everything happened as it was supposed to," he told me. "It's only a matter of time before he breaks completely."

I pulled away slightly, feeling a little guilty about what we were doing to Sherlock.

"Come on," Jim said gently, "let's go to bed."

/

Jim walked into the kitchen later that night, opening the fridge to get something to eat. He saw Sebastian sitting at the table, chomping on some leftover pork.

"Must you eat all our food?" Jim asked, grinning.

Sebastian shrugged, returning the smile.

"I heard you two having some fun up there." Sebastian chuckled, biting into another forkful of pork.

Jim rolled his eyes as he grabbed some pasta, sitting across from Sebastian.

"You are a scoundrel, you know that?"

Sebastian shrugged once more, grinning impishly. Jim ate a forkful of pasta, his eyes becoming distant, pensive.

"You okay, boss?"

"You'll take care of her, right? When it's all over?"

Sebastian sighed, putting his fork down.

"I still don't know why you can't just tell her."

"You know why I can't."

"Do you know how hard it'll be for me to look at her and tell her you died?"

"It's for her own good. She'll be safe."

"Will she?"

"You know she will. It's the only way to keep her out of suspicion. Sherlock knows she's with me, and he's more than likely told John. After the fall I don't want to risk her safety."

Sebastian sighed, "Yeah, boss. I'll look after her."

"Thank you."


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Guys, I'm so sorry...but you might hate me after this chapter. I do want to thank you all immensely for your reviews. You guys are so wonderful and it makes me absolutely happy to read them!**

* * *

I woke up the next morning completely alone. The side of the bed Jim usually slept on was cold, as if he hadn't been there for a number of hours. I checked the clock on his bedside table; it was half past ten. Where had he gone that caused him to leave so early? I grabbed my phone off the table, checking to see if I had any text messages. Nothing. But I did have a missed call from Mrs. Hudson.

Frowning, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stumbled out of bed. I threw on some clothes and called Mrs. Hudson.

"Hello, dear," she answered.

"Hi, Mrs. Hudson. I saw that you called."

"Oh, yes. There were some things you apparently left. I've got them in a box for you if you want to come by."

I frowned slightly. I hadn't left anything at Bakers Street. I had triple checked before I left.

"Uh, sure Mrs. Hudson. I'll be over soon."

There was something going on. Something felt off, and the feeling only got worse when I realized it wasn't just the room that was empty. It was the entire house. Something was not right, and I had no one to ask.

/

Jim Moriarty sat on the roof of St. Barts, the morning sun beaming down on him. He was back in his typical smart suit and overcoat with his hair slicked back. He felt more like himself this way; the clothes of Richard Brook always felt like they hung weird on his frame. He calmly sat on the raised ledge at the edge of the building with his phone in his hand as The Bee Gees' "Stayin' Alive" played from it. He heard the access door to the roof open, and didn't even bother looking at who was walking towards him. He knew it was Sherlock.

"Ah. Here we are at last – you and me, Sherlock, and our problem – the final problem." Jim held his phone up higher. "Stayin' alive! It's so boring, isn't it?"

Angrily, he switched the phone off.

"It's just ..." He held his hand out flat, his palm down, and skimmed it slowly through the air level to the roof "... staying."

He pulled his hand back and briefly sank his head into it as Sherlock paced around the roof.

"All my life I've been searching for distractions. You were the best distraction and now I don't even have you. Because I've beaten you."

Sherlock's head turned sharply towards him as he continued to pace.

"And you know what? In the end it was easy." Jim continued.

Sherlock stopped and folded his hands behind his back. "What about Diana? Isn't she a good enough distraction?"

Jim chuckled quietly, "She wasn't a distraction, Sherlock. She was a partner. She's been beside me through everything. Helping me plan. She was playing you this whole time and you didn't even realize it." Jim's voice got quieter, disappointed. "It was easy. All of it. Now I've got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out you're ordinary just like all of them."

He lowered his head again and rubbed his face before looking up at Sherlock.

"Ah well." He stood and walked closer, slowly beginning to pace around Sherlock, "Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly get you?"

"Richard Brook." Sherlock stated tonelessly.

"Nobody seems to get the joke, but you do."

"Of course."

"Attaboy."

"Rich Brook in German is Reichen Bach – the case that made my name."

"Just tryin' to have some fun." Jim said, inflecting a fake American accent.

As Jim continued to pace around Sherlock, he looked down to Sherlock's hands and saw that he was beating out a rhythm with his fingers.

"Good. You got that too."

"Beats like digits." Sherlock replied. "Every beat is a one; every rest is a zero. Binary code. That's why all those assassins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me; hidden inside my head – a few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system."

"I told all my clients: last one to Sherlock is a sissy."

Sherlock gestured to his own head, "Yes, but now that it's up here, I can use it to alter all the records. I can kill Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty."

Jim gazed at him for a moment, then turned away with a disappointed look on his face.

"No, no, no, no, no, this is too easy." He buried his head in his hands. "This is too easy."

Lowering his hands, he turned back to Sherlock. "There is no key, DOOFUS! Those digits are meaningless. They're utterly meaningless."

Jim reveled in the look of confusion on Sherlock's face that he couldn't hide.

"You don't really think a couple of lines of computer code are gonna crash the world around our ears? I'm disappointed." Jim turned away and lumbered across the roof, making his voice sound moronic as he continued speaking. "I'm disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock."

"But the rhythm ..." Sherlock began.

"_Partita number one_. Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach."

"But then how did ..."

"Then how did I break into the Bank, to the Tower, to the Prison?" Jim turned and spread his arms wide. "Daylight robbery. All it takes is some willing participants."

He grinned thinking back to his escapade at the White Tower When Jim selected the Crown icon on his phone, a message was automatically sent to the man in the surveillance saying "it's showtime!". He would've done the whole system overload from the security booth. Same thing with the Prison and the Bank; he had men on the inside.

"I knew you'd fall for it." Jim told him. "That's your weakness – you always want everything to be clever. Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building – nice way to do it."

"Do it? Do – do what?" Sherlock asked, bewildered. He blinked as it became clearer to him and he turned towards Jim. "Yes, of course. My suicide."

"_Genius detective proved to be a fraud_." Jim recited. "I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairytales."

Sherlock walked to the edge of the roof and leaned forward, looking over the side to the ground below. Jim walked to stand beside him and looked over the side as well.

"And pretty Grimm ones too."

Jim turned his head and looked ominously at Sherlock.

/

I paid the cab driver and walked up to the front door of 221B. Not even Griffiths was around, and I was surprised I had enough money for the driver; I had stopped carrying pocket money on me ever since I moved in with Jim. I walked up to the door and knocked. There was no answer, but there was some kind of buzzing noise coming from inside. I tried again, knocking harder this time, and thankfully the door opened.

"Diana, dear!" Mrs. Hudson greeted me. "Let me just go and get that box for you."

"Thanks," I replied, still wondering what I could have possibly left.

I looked around the foyer of my old flat. There was a man standing on top of a yellow step ladder just in front of the stairs, surrounded by tools. Mrs. Hudson must be having some work done to the flat.

"Here you are, dear." Mrs. Hudson said, returning with a small cardboard box filled with my sketchbooks.

"Uh, Mrs. Hudson, where did you find these?" I asked.

"They were on the floor, just inside your flat. I was going to tidy it up to show to possible new tenants when I saw them. Figured you might want them back."

"Yeah," I trailed off, looking at the contents of the box as the man began to drill into the wall.

There was no possible way I had left my sketchbooks in the flat, mostly because I specifically remembered unpacking them when I had returned to Jim's house. Something weird was going on. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mrs. Hudson jump. John had arrived, and had apparently startled her since she could not hear his approach over the sound of the drill.

"Oh, God, John!" She exclaimed. "You made me jump!"

John stared at her in confusion, "But ..."

"Is everything okay now with the police? Has, um, Sherlock sorted it all out?"

John stared for a moment, his face changing as an expression of realization washed over.

"Oh my God." he murmured, his voice full of horror.

He turned around and dashed out of the flat.

"John!" I called after him, following as best as I could with the box of stuff in my arms.

But I was cut off from catching up to him by a black car pulling up in front of me. Griffiths jumped out and practically shoved me into the back seat.

"Oh my god, what the hell? Griffiths, what are you doing?" I practically screamed at him as he zipped down the road.

"Our old location was compromised. We had to get you out of the house when it was infiltrated. I'm taking you to our new location." He explained, more calmly than I appreciated.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"We had taken measures to mask our signals, every signal. Internet, telecommunications, everything. Someone got through."

"But why?"

"To get you."

"I kinda figured that. But why me?"

"Leverage."

/

"I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity." Sherlock told Jim.

"Oh, just kill yourself. It's a lot less effort." Jim replied, exasperated.

Sherlock turned away, beginning to pace distractedly.

"Go on. For me. Pleeeeeease?"

In a swift move, Sherlock grabbed him by the collar of his coat with both hands and spun him around so that Jim's back was to the drop. He stared into his face and shoved him back one step nearer the edge. Jim looked at him with interest as Sherlock's breathing became shorter.

"You're insane." Sherlock growled.

Jim blinked. "You're just getting that now?"

Sherlock shoved him further back, now holding him over the edge. Jim whooped almost triumphantly and gazed back at Sherlock with no fear in his eyes, holding his hands out wide and committing himself to Sherlock's grasp.

"Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive."

Sherlock frowned, not understanding what Jim meant by 'incentive'.

"Your friends will die if you don't." Jim's tone was menacing.

Fear began to creep into Sherlock's eyes.

"John."

"Not just John. Everyone."

"Mrs. Hudson."

"Everyone."

"Lestrade."

"Three bullets; three gunmen; three victims. There's no stopping them now."

"What about my incentive?" Sherlock asked just as dangerously.

Jim quirked an eyebrow.

"Who do you think told Diana about your little plan with the ambassador's children?" Sherlock continued. "I bet it put a rift in your little relationship with her, but it was also to locate your hideaway. Took a while, you've got quite the signal blocker, but finally managed to pinpoint the location. She should be in custody now. Nothing will happen to her; unless you go back to hole you crawled out of."

Jim just smiled evilly at him, "You really think I wouldn't know when someone tried to circumvent the security measures I installed? Really, Sherlock, I'm disappointed. Yet again."

Sherlock's partially triumphant expression faded slightly.

"I knew the moment you started tracking her. I purposefully upped the security to take up more time. You really think I'd risk her safety?" Jim chuckled slightly, "She's not even there. She's at the new hideout now, Sherlock. You've got no leverage. There's nothing you can do to stop your friends from dying."

Furiously, Sherlock pulled Jim back upwards to safety. Jim stared into his face.

"Unless my people see you jump."

Sherlock gazed past him, breathing heavily and appearing lost in horror. Jim shook himself free of his grasp and smiled triumphantly.

"You can have me arrested; you can torture me; you can do anything you like with me; but nothing's gonna prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only three friends in the world will die ... unless ..."

"... unless I kill myself – complete your story."

Jim nodded and smiled ecstatically. "You've gotta admit that's sexier."

"And I die in disgrace."

"Of course. That's the point of this." Jim looked over the side and saw that someone had stopped at the benches near the bus stop below them. "Oh, you've got an audience now. Off you pop. Go on."

Sherlock slowly stepped past him and up onto the ledge.

"I told you how this ends."

Sherlock's breathing became shakier as he looked down.

"Your death is the only thing that's gonna call off the killers. I'm certainly not gonna do it."

Sherlock blinked anxiously. "Would you give me ... one moment, please; one moment of privacy?" He glanced down at Jim. "Please?"

Jim frowned slight, disappointed that Sherlock could be so ordinary. "Of course."

He moved away across the roof. Sherlock took several shallow anxious breaths, then stopped breathing for a moment as his brain kicked into gear again. He lifted his gaze as his eyes became thoughtful. Slowly a smile spread across his face and he started to chuckle. Behind him, Jim was slowly walking across the roof but he stopped, his expression livid, as Sherlock laughed with delight. Jim whipped around furiously.

"What?" He asked, both confused and angry.

Sherlock continued to laugh.

"What is it?" Jim pressed as Sherlock began to turn towards him, smiling towards him as he glared back. "What did I miss?"

Sherlock hopped down off the ledge and walked closer to him.

"You're not going to do it." Sherlock echoed Jim's words. "So the killers can be called off, then – there's a recall code or a word or a number." Sherlock began to circle around Jim, "I don't have to die ... if I've got you."

"Oh!" Jim laughed in relieved delight. "You think you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that?"

"Yes. So do you."

"Sherlock, your big brother and all the King's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to."

Sherlock stopped, getting into Jim's face, "Yes, but I'm not my brother, remember? I am you – prepared to do anything; prepared to burn; prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you."

Jim shook his head slowly. "Naah. You talk big. Naah. You're ordinary. You're ordinary – you're on the side of the angels."

Sherlock's voice became more ominous, "Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them."

The enemies locked eyes for a long moment as Jim tried to deduce how far Sherlock would go.

"No, you're not."

He blinked, then closed his eyes briefly. Sherlock did the same in an unintentional mirror movement. Jim smiled and opened his eyes again.

"I see. You're not ordinary. No. You're me." Jim hissed out a delighted laugh and his voice became more high-pitched. "You're me! Thank you!" He lifted his hand as if to embrace Sherlock, but lowered it and offered it to him to shake instead. "Sherlock Holmes."

They both looked down at the offered hand, then Sherlock slowly raised his own and took it.

Jim nodded almost frenetically, though his voice remained soft, "Thank you. Bless you." He blinked and lowered his gaze, "As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends; you've got a way out. Well, good luck with that."

In rapid succession he raised his eyes to Sherlock's, grinned manically, opened his mouth wide and pulled Sherlock closer as he reached into his waistband with his other hand and pulled a pistol out and raised it towards his own mouth. Sherlock instinctively pulled back, crying out in alarm, as Jim stuck the muzzle into his own mouth and pulled the trigger, dropping to the ground instantly. Sherlock stared in horror as blood began to trickle across the roof underneath Jim's head. Jim's eyes were fixed and open, a smile of victory on his face. Sherlock spun away from him, his breathing noisy and frantic as he raised his hands to his head in horror.

/

I walked into the new hideout. It was just as big, just as elaborate. Men were still unpacking our belongings from the hasty move from the old hideout. I stood in the foyer, looking around the place, trying to get a feel for it.  
"How many of these has he got?" I wondered aloud.

"For every one we're living in he's got two in reserve." Griffiths said as he walked up next to me.

"And the one we were just in?"

"Put onto the market. And Mr. Moriarty gets a portion of the money once it's sold."

"Where is Jim?" I asked, turning to Griffiths. "I haven't seen him all day and I'm starting to get worried."

Griffiths looked down at me, his lips tightening into a hard line.

"Griffiths," I continued. "What are you not telling me?"

/

"I still don't understand why you're doing this," Sebastian said, stuffing Jim's old clothes into a trash bag. They were still slightly wet from the fake blood they had used after Jim fired a fake gun into his mouth.

Jim wanted to use blanks, but Sebastian knew that even blanks could cause severe damage. They had spent weeks converting a real gun to one that shot air, though it would still make the same sound as real gun. Jim knew Sherlock wouldn't bother checking his body, being too concerned with saving the lives of his friends. A cleverly placed tube in his shirt connected to a packet filled with blood was enough to create the illusion of a head wound.

"I told you," Jim said, buttoning up his shirt. "After Sherlock died, his brother undoubtedly started to hack away at my organization. Diana needs to be kept out of it, left in the dark, while I salvage it and begin reforming it into something Mycroft can't trace. The less she knows about what happened on the roof, the safer she'll be. Just have her start working on my organization. I'll transfer the command to her."

"And you really think she's going to do it? Just jump right in and pick up where you left off?"

"Of course I don't!" Jim shouted, closing his eyes to calm himself down, "But she needs to be protected, and the only way she'll be properly protected is if the network believes she's in charge. Like chess, and she's become the king. They'll be desperate to please her and keep her safe."

"If she does it at all."

"You have to make her. It's the only way. Give her a few days mourning and start her off small."

Sebastian looked at his boss, "How long will you be gone?"

"Little over a year; two if Mycroft's as good as I think, but with the death of his little brother he might be too sad to work properly." Jim chuckled slightly. "Promise me you'll keep her safe and do what I told you?"

Sebastian nodded, "I promise."

/

Griffiths was helping me rearrange the furniture in the new living room when Sebastian walked in. Griffiths had remained quiet about what Jim was doing, so now that they were back I could finally find out.

"Hey Sebastian," I greeted, looking around him for any sign of Jim. "Uh, where's Jim? I figured he'd come home with you."

Sebastian exchanged glances with Griffiths, both wearing a grim expression on their faces.

"Guys, what's going on?" I demanded. "Seriously, the ominous looks aren't doing anything to calm my nerves."

Sebastian walked over and put his hands gently on my shoulders, guiding me towards the couch, "Diana, maybe you should sit down."

I swatted his hands away, "I don't need to sit down. I need you to tell me what's going on."

Sebastian took a steadying breath, "Jim's dead."

My mind went blank.

"He shot himself."

I was completely brain dead. I would've thought I fainted were it not for the fact that I was still looking into Sebastian's eyes. I attempted to ask why, but the words wouldn't come.

"It was the only way to convince Sherlock to jump off the roof."

Sherlock was dead too? Why did they even bother hiding things from me, when my reaction would be this? There was so much going on in my head now that I was starting to get dizzy.

"Excuse me," I said, leaving the living room to go to my bedroom, the room I was supposed to have shared with Jim, leaving a worried Sebastian and Griffiths behind me.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: You guys are so going to hate me for this chapter. I know it and I'm sorry but I HAD to do it.**

**As always, I really enjoy your reviews, and I've prepared myself for the next round.**

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The last time Jim and I had sex, there were no words. There truly was nothing left to say. There was nothing left to discuss, nothing left to argue. All the decisions had been made. And so, Jim's elaborate plan was left to unravel, to play out like a swan song dedicated to two madmen wrapped up in their own final battle, a war of intellect, pride and reputation. The consulting criminal and detective.

A fitting end, I mused miserably. A fitting end to die at the top, to fight and fall for your pride, something the two rivals both reveled and protected. Jim was a stubborn man, all the way to his grave. He would rather send a bullet through his brain than admit defeat.

And I hated him for it. The selfish, self-centered, arrogant, thoughtless genius. I hated him for leaving me.

The worst part was Sebastian and Griffiths knew that Jim would die. They had known from the start. The plan had been made and would be executed with precision and accuracy, ending with the crescendo of blood staining concrete. Jim probably thought it was wonderful, his final victory conceived with a bang and a deep shade of red.

Since then, I barely slept. He barely ate or spoke, ignoring the desperate pleas from Sebastian and Griffiths to come out of my room. The room I was supposed to have shared with Jim. I had nightmares; dreadful images of the rooftop event. Since I didn't know exactly what happened, however, different scenarios kept playing out. I would wake with a start, gasping and sweaty, only to realize there'd be no Jim to pull me into his arms and comfort me. And I'd cry myself to sleep again.

How could I have gone from having everything to nothing so fast?

Not even London, the city I fell in love with and the skyline with its infinite sea of glimmering white dots on full display from my floor to ceiling windows, could make me feel alive like it once did. And there was nothing I could do about it.

I would never be able to hold him again. I would never share moments of kisses and tangled bodies again, moments of simple domestic adoration, or anything ever again.

And Jim knew it all along.

When we had sex for the last time, it was slow, careful and deliberate. Jim didn't rush and at the time I just thought he was being loving. He just set a simple and lazy pace, comfortably rocking back and forth with my legs hooked around his waist. He wanted it to be a good memory for me.

I even hated him for that.

It might've been okay if someone else had killed him. I'd have something to do; I'd be fueled by revenge. But he had killed himself, and I didn't even know why. Truly knew why. Telling me he did it to convince Sherlock to jump to his death wasn't enough. There were other ways. There had to have been.

But Jim chose the one that broke me.

**/**

"She's been in there for two months," Sebastian remarked worriedly to Griffiths.

"She's mourning; what do you expect?"

"Jim said a few days and then bring her into the business."

"Yeah," Griffiths lowered his voice to a low hiss, "and Jim's also off pretending he's dead while she's up there wasting away. Be concerned about her, not the goddamn business."

"Watch your mouth, Griffiths. You work for me now, you know."

"No, I work for her. You do to, so start acting like it."

Sebastian sighed, resting his head in his hands as his elbows propped on the island in the kitchen. He and Griffiths had been camping out there when they needed to talk about Jim. It was the farthest from Diana's room, and they'd hear her coming if she did leave her room.

"I am concerned about her. Obviously none of us knew it'd have this kind of effect on her." Sebastian told him.

He and Griffiths had moved in to look out for her the day after the fall, but since she rarely left her room there was almost no need to. However, shutting herself away was going to ruin her. They had to do something. And soon.

It was a week later that Diana emerged. She walked into the living room where Sebastian was seated, holding a big mug of tea in her hands. Sebastian looked at her, his heart sinking slightly as he saw the state she was in. There were dark circles under her eyes and she looked more pale than usual. She walked over to the chair opposite of Sebastian and sat down. She looked so frail, so broken. Sebastian had the strong urge to tell her it was all a lie right then and there, but Jim would murder him.

"How are you feeling?" Sebastian asked gently.

"Well, I've finally stopped crying myself to sleep." She laughed humorlessly. "I guess that's a start."

Sebastian smiled sadly, "But are you sleeping? You look like you haven't."

She shrugged, "Sometimes. I can't really sleep through the night. I keep having nightmares."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Like the roof. And what happened."

"Oh," Sebastian replied embarrassed.

She took a sip of tea, musing about something.

"I dunno, I guess it's just weird," she continued as she set the mug down on the between them. "I never remember my dreams. Or nightmares for that matter. I mean, the last time I even remember having nightmares was when…"

She trailed off, an odd look coming across her face. She got up abruptly, leaving the mug on the table as she walked briskly out of the room.

"Diana," Sebastian called worriedly after her.

He flung the newspaper he had been holding to the wayside, following after her as she climbed the stairs. She had pulled her phone out of the pockets of her sweatpants and was furiously typing a message to someone.

"Diana, what's going on?" Sebastian asked when she didn't explain her actions.

She remained silent, completing her journey to her room and shutting the door behind her.

Fifteen minutes later Griffiths arrived outside her door, a plastic bag in his hand. By that time, Sebastian had given up knocking on the door and calling her name. He was currently seated just in front of her door, waiting for any kind of change. Griffiths took a turn and knocked on the door.

"Diana, it's me. I brought what you asked."

"What did she ask for?" Sebastian asked, making a grab for the bag.

But, before he could reach it, Diana opened the door and jolted her arm out of the opening, snatching the bag away and disappearing behind the closed door yet again.

"Diana," Sebastian pounded on the door again. "Diana, tell me what's going on!"

When there was no response, he turned to Griffiths.

"Griffiths, tell me what was in that bag."

"No!" He heard Diana yell, her voice slightly muffled from the door.

"Then _you_ tell me what's going on!" Sebastian yelled through the door.

Again, there was no response. Sebastian flung his hands up in defeat.

"I give up!"

"Just give her a couple minutes." Griffiths said gently.

"She's had two months to be in there," Sebastian retorted.

The couple minutes felt like an eternity, but finally Diana emerged once again. Her cheeks were stained with tears and a look of utter despair was on her face.

"Oh my god, what happened?" Sebastian asked as soon as he saw her.

"Sebastian, call an obstetrician. I want to go in today." She said, her voice faltering slightly.

"I don't know what that is," Sebastian informed her. Medical words never agreed with him.

"It's a pregnancy doctor," Griffiths explained.

Sebastian's eyes widened as Diana held up the test.

"I'm pregnant. I mean, the nightmares, the fact that I haven't gotten my period for two months. I should've known sooner, but I was kinda distracted by other things."

"Holy shit," Sebastian breathed. "But wait, you haven't been having morning sickness, have you?"

"No, but then again I haven't really been eating. And you can get nausea from grief too." She sniffed. "This isn't really a normal situation, and I want to go to the doctor. Can you just call them, please?"

"Yeah, go get dressed."

She laughed lightly, "I'm going like this."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but pulled out his phone to make the call.

/

"Well, Ms. Remus, you are in fact pregnant." Dr. Kumar told me, holding the clipboard with my results out for me to see.

I blew out a deep breath, trying to come to terms with the information I already knew.

"Is it a boy or girl?" Sebastian jutted in.

Dr. Kumar laughed lightly, "The fathers are always the most eager to know."

"Oh, no, no, no. I'm not the father. I'm just moral support." Sebastian quickly cleared up.

"Ah, sorry then. We won't be able to tell the sex of the baby until week thirteen or fourteen, and she's only nine weeks pregnant. Would you like to see it?"

It took a moment for the question to process.

"Yes please." I responded.

Dr. Kumar led us to the ultrasound room, and I laid back on the bed and hiked my shirt up. Dr. Kumar squirted the gel on my stomach; I flinched from the cold. Sebastian and Griffiths stood on either side of me, taking my hands in support. I closed my eyes as Dr. Kumar began to move the sensor over my stomach.

"Ms. Remus, open your eyes," Dr. Kumar gently commanded.

I opened them, turning to the screen, tears beginning to flood my eyes once more as I saw the tiny image on the screen. The child I didn't know I wanted growing inside me. I was so thankful I had Sebastian and Griffiths with me; without Jim here I was going to need all the help I could get.

"Now, we can just hear the heartbeat, but we have to listen very close." Dr. Kumar told us.

We all quieted down, hearing the faint whirring of the heart beat from the monitor. Even Sebastian started tearing up as he squeezed my hand slightly.

"And just there and there," Dr. Kumar pointed to the screen, "You can see the arm and leg buds where they're starting to develop."

I threw a hand over my mouth, happiness and sadness overwhelming me all at once. I was pregnant, but my child wouldn't have a father. I think Sebastian and Griffiths could tell what I was thinking, because they both started to comfort me. Sebastian gave my hand another squeeze and Griffiths started petting my hair, as I had taken my hand from his to stifle the sobs.

"So far it's a healthy pregnancy," Dr. Kumar told us. "But you are going to have to start eating more, Ms. Remus. You're slightly underweight and the baby's going to need all the nutrients it can get."

I nodded, trying to calm myself down.

"When should we come back?" Griffiths asked.

"I'd come back in a month. You can schedule an appointment at the front desk."

"Thank you, Dr. Kumar," I said as I wiped the gel off my stomach.

"You're welcome, Ms. Remus. I'll see you next month."

The ride home was quiet. Griffiths had made my next appointment for me, because my brain wasn't fully functioning yet. There was so many things that had to be taken care of, so many questions I had, so many 'what ifs' and 'maybes'.

"You okay?" Sebastian asked, patting my knees.

"Yeah, just still recovering from the shock." I told him.

"I bet. But don't worry. Between Griffiths and me, you're not going to want for anything. And we're going to help you take care of the baby too."

"But I won't do diapers," Griffiths interjected, looking at us through the rear view mirror.

I chuckled, "Yeah, I figured as much. But thanks guys. Really."

"There is another thing, though," Sebastian started reluctantly.

"What?"

"When Jim…you know-ed…he left the organization in your charge. I've been handling things while you've been mourning, but he wanted you to run it."

"But I don't know anything about running a crime syndicate."

"It's okay, you have me. I can teach you what you need to know, and you already have the instinct for making the right decisions. You're going to do great."

I breathed out a heavy breath, but nodded anyways.

"You're right. Jim wanted this, and if he trusted me enough with it I should give it a go." I turned to Sebastian, "And you're sure I can do it?"

Sebastian grinned, "I'm positive. I wouldn't have brought it up if I didn't think you could, and I highly doubt Jim would have proposed it if he didn't think you could."

It was only when we walked through the door that another thought struck me.

"Oh my god, the media." I groaned.

"What?" Sebastian asked.

"The media." I repeated. "I can just see the headline they're gonna write: internationally successful lingerie designer pregnant by mysterious man."

"Oh, I see the problem. They'd have a field day, and Mycroft and his men would find out and might try something."

"Oh god, I didn't even think about that. What am I gonna do?"

"Tell the media you're going on Sabbatical," Griffiths offered. "Or go into seclusion to 'purge yourself from worldly influences' for your next line."

"Oh that's good," I breathed. "That's really good. I won't start showing for another month. I can be seen in public until then, and then have my PR department release the statement."

"Problem is, you haven't been seen in public for about two months, so people might have already started talking."

"Nah, two months wouldn't tip them off to anything. But three-fourths of a year? They'd definitely think something was up. Besides, if they bring up the two months, I could say I was on a vacation or whatever."

"See, it's gonna work out," Sebastian said, playfully nudging my shoulder. "Now, go eat."

"Sir, yes sir." I mock saluted, making my way to the kitchen to eat my first full meal in two months.

**/**

**How's my girl doing? – JM**

Sebastian pursed his lips. He had promised Jim that he would tell him everything about Diana while he was away. But, telling him about the baby would probably cause more harm than good. He'd be focusing on her and his child rather than fixing the organization, and if (god forbid) she had another miscarriage Jim would probably abandon the whole thing to come home and take care of her.

**She's better. Finally convinced her to take up the head of the organization. – SM**

Sebastian sighed. He really hoped he had done the right thing. Jim would probably murder him when he got home and found out he had been keeping this from him, but what was done was done.

**It's been two months and you JUST convinced her? – JM**

**She's been mourning! She really loved you, you know. – SM**

**I know. I know, and I want to come back to her, but it's not an option right now – JM**

**Yeah, I know. But she's getting better. Finally came out of her room. – SM**

**You're not making me feel better about leaving her. – JM**

**Not trying to, just letting you know what's been going on with her. – SM**

**She's been pretty bad, but she's getting better now. – SM**

**Good. Just take care of her. I'm gonna come home as soon as I can. – JM**

**Sure thing, boss. – SM**

Sebastian sighed, flopping down on the couch in the living room. It was probably a really bad idea to have lied to Jim, but right now there wasn't another option. Besides, Diana had enough to worry about. First the baby and now becoming the head of Jim's organization…any more would probably send her over the edge. And Jim's miraculous return once he found out she was pregnant definitely would cause some problems.

Besides, becoming the head of the organization would be a nice change for her rather than just sitting around the house. She'd have something to do other than sitting around and being pregnant. It'd keep her from worrying and she'd be able to stay home and work.

It'd be a good thing.

Sebastian repeated the phrase over and over in his mind, trying to convince himself of it.

/

I was woken once morning by the morning light streaming into my room through my window.

"G'morning, gorgeous," Jim's voice purred in my ear, his voice a few octaves lower than normal.

I rolled over, turning completely on my side, face to face with him.

"Good morning to you, too, but what–"

I was cut off by Jim's lips pressing against mine.

"I'm sorry, my love. It was a necessary deceit. I just wanted you safe."

Questions could be saved for later. Jim was back with me, and right now that was all I cared about. I unfurled my arms to embrace him, lovingly and openly. A shaky hand slid upwards from my bellybutton to my neck. The pulse of his fingers beat smoothly and rapidly against my skin, lulling me into a state of pure bliss. Between me and Jim - nothing else mattered.

"I love you." Jim smiled and leaned his head downwards to kiss the top of my head, nuzzling my hair in the process, still messy from the night's sleep. I returned the smile and looked up at Jim, closing the gap between us. "I love you, too."

"I'm never leaving again, I promise." He said as his lips grazed mine.

"You better not."

And then I woke up for real.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Hello lovelies! Again, sorry about the delay. My fiance is not a computer expert and I'm never letting him rebuild his without professional supervision again!**

**CrazyCousinEiko: Don't worry; I'm not so evil that I'm going to have her miscarry again.  
**

**onelifeonedirection: From Sebastian's point of view, he's protecting her. It's severely misguided, I totally agree, but it's necessary for the plot line.  
**

* * *

I woke with a start, breathing heavily as I glanced over scared to where Jim used to sleep opposite me. Everything had seemed so real, but only the moonlight shined through the window, the curtains casting eerie shadows on the ground.

I clambered out of my bed and stumbled down the hall to where Sebastian's room was. He left his door unlocked, but I knocked before opening the door, knowing he slept with a pistol under his pillow.

"Yeah?" came a mumbled response.

I opened the door a crack and stuck my head in.

"Can I come in?" I asked.

Sebastian propped himself up on his elbows, "Yeah, what's wrong?"

I walked in and sat on the edge of the bed, laying down across his chest.

"Nothing… just a… nightmare." I whimpered, my voice muffled against Sebastian's chest whilst silent tears rolled down my cheeks, causing his skin to eventually become damp as I sobbed harder, horrible images of the lie that was my dream haunting my mind.

"Are you all right?" Sebastian asked worried, rubbing my back soothingly to calm me. He had never seen me like this, not even after Jim died. And now I was falling apart because of something that wasn't even real. I simply nodded in response, burying my face deeper into Sebastian's chest.

**/**

Sebastian watched the young woman cautiously, putting his hand under Diana's chin and pulling her face up so he could get a proper look at her. Her eyes were red and swollen, still flowing with saddened and terrified tears; somewhat guilty as well.

"It's okay, it was just a dream." he said softly, wiping the tears from Diana's eyes and smiling reassuringly.

"I know… but it looked… so real, Sebastian… he was here." she sniffed, more tears daring to leak from her eyes. "He was alive and he was here."

"Shh, everything's fine, try and sleep. It's late." Sebastian murmured calmly, pulling Diana into a hug.

"My child isn't going to have a father," she muttered into his shoulder.

"Diana, we told you. Griffiths and I are going to help you."

"But every time my child asks what his or her father did, what am I going to tell them?"

"Tell them he was a business man. I mean, you're going to be running the business and they'll know about that. Just tell them he did it too."

Diana pulled out of the hug and looked at him, her eyes still puffy.

"I want you to be the godfather. Griffiths too. Especially if I have a son, because he should know how to be a man like his father."

"You sure?" Sebastian asked.

"I'm sure."

He smiled lightly, petting her hair and placing a small kiss on her forehead.

"You know, I was an only child," Sebastian told her.

"Me too."

"Did you ever want a brother?"

"Did you ever want a sister?" she returned.

"Yeah, sometimes."

"Me too."

"I'm doing to take care of you, Di. Not just because I promised Jim or because you have a baby on the way. You're like a sister to me. A weirdly complicated and ever-changing sister, but one I still care about."

"Thanks, Seb. Just know you're going to have to put up with being called 'Uncle Sebby' by whatever pops out of me."

The pair laughed, the first sound of joy that came from the new household. She would be on the road to recovery as soon as she started incorporating herself into the business. Sebastian was sure of it.

However, he wasn't prepared for how she would act once she was fully integrated. It took only a month and a half of her working with Sebastian on the business that he noticed a rapid change in her. It was something he wasn't prepared for.

He always knew what to expect from Jim.

Jim cycled through so many moods. He was happy or he was sad or angry or just silent and impassable—though he was never halfway on any of them, always an extremist. It was often hard to tell what mood he'd decide to be in next, often hard to determine how next his emotional levels will change. The scary thing was, nothing ever stayed the same. It all changed so fast and so hard.

When he was angry, it could be a towering, screaming, whirling, backhand-Sebastian-so-hard-his-legs-buckle-underneath-him rage. It could be a quiet, hissing, hideously terrifying, silently-clench-the-mug-in-his-hand-until-the-ceramic-folds-and-breaks-and-tears-his-hands-apart rage.

When he was happy, he sometimes danced to the beat of music only he could hear, or sang, or played on the piano, musically expressing what a lovely thing has happened. But sometimes his glee was fear-inducing too, when it turned into the face that showed nothing but an evil grin, and eyes that glinted with insanity and the promise of someone's imminent or recent demise.

When he was going through a down spell, it was the worst, because he'd usually lie on the couch or his bed—or even, once, on the floor—and his face would take on a hollow cast. His body would fold in on itself, crumpling, and he never looked smaller or less menacing than when he rested in a ball on the couch with his arms wrapped around himself.

Jim got better when Diana came around. He finally got someone to balance him out and make him halfway normal. He had someone else to think about and worry about, someone who he would actually listen to when they told him he was getting out of line or going too far.

But now, with Jim gone and Diana taking his place, it was almost like he was back. But instead of the ever-changing moods, she fluctuated between angry and silent, staring off into space with dark, thinking eyes that Jim often wore. The only time she acted normal was when they were at the doctor's office getting the second sonogram. But, as soon as they returned home, she retreated inside herself again.

Sebastian was never quite sure what caused such violent changes where Jim was concerned, but he was sure of one thing: if Diana didn't calm down or start acting somewhat normal, things wouldn't turn out well for the baby.

**/**

Sherlock wiped the sweat from his brow, having taken down yet another one of Moriarty's former operatives. It was harder working alone than he originally thought. But, it was necessary; the sooner he got rid of the organization, the sooner he could get home and things would return to normal.

However, one thing kept plaguing his mind as he picked off operative after operative.

It was something Irene had said to him during their first meeting.

'_You know what the problem is with a disguise? No matter who hard you try, it's always a self-portrait.'_

Jim's little disguises - Rich Brook and Jim from IT - had one thing in common: they were both what people would call 'sweethearts.'

They both had a gentle demeanor and seemed to care about the women they were fooling. They were both anxious around Sherlock. They were both inoffensive and soft-spoken.

They both had a heart.

No one was that good of an actor. The one thing you couldn't fake was a heart.

If he was heartless, Molly would be dead. She saw Jim's face, she was a liability. Why didn't he kill her? He'd heard all Molly's stories; he knew she was important to Sherlock, if only a little, so why didn't he kill her? Why didn't he threaten her with the gunmen during Reichenbach?

Because he had a heart, and its name was Diana. He had grown to care, even if ever so slightly, about others. Molly wasn't a liability because she was sweet and lovely, someone who didn't talk, even after the highly-publicized trial. Diana might've even convinced him to back off of her; further proof that she was his heart.

Even during their first meeting at the pool, Jim showed an unusual lack of self-restraint "THAT'S WHAT PEOPLE DO!". His face wasn't blank; it wasn't a poker face like Sherlock's. He was expressive. He was emotive. He was human. Jim has a heart.

Sherlock realized this on the roof of the hospital. He realized that Jim wasn't acting.

He realized what Jim really wanted: to not be alone; to find someone just like himself; to find someone not-ordinary. Most of all, he wanted that person to be Sherlock.

Sure, Jim had Diana, but she wasn't able to fully understand what was going on in Jim's mind. Sherlock saw the level of frustration and disappointment and, if he was being brutally honest with himself, the sadness on Jim's face when he thought Sherlock was stupid and ordinary, and when he thought Sherlock would jump to save his friends.

That's how he beat Jim.

The way he asserted himself on Jim, moving right up into his personal space. He'd never done that before. He had attacked people, usually in self-defense, but he had never done anything quite so personal, quite so intimidating.

He had been risking John's life by doing this. He knew that the moment he did it. He had been risking the lives of all his friends and for a moment he didn't care. In those moments, Jim was his primary focus.

And then Sherlock listened to him, actually listened to Jim's words and voice instead of trying to find a deeper meaning or a trap or a loophole. Ordinary people had hurt Jim; there was no doubt about that.

When Sherlock told Jim that he wasn't 'one of them', that he wasn't ordinary, he wasn't being cruel. He was being gentle.

_We're just alike, you and I._

And they were just alike, apart from that one little thing that they didn't have in common:

Sherlock was the good guy who had a heart, and the few times he showed it was his biggest weakness.

Jim was the bad guy who had a heart, and the few times he showed it was his greatest tragedy.

And even after all that, Sherlock couldn't bring himself to care about the aftermath that Diana had been dealing with. She had been his friend and she had betrayed him. The few times Sherlock showed his heart and she had stepped over it. She had sold him out for Jim.

When this was all over, Sherlock would pay her a visit.

**/**

I could feel it.

I was starting to slip away.

Now I understood why Jim acted the way he did. There were so many personalities built up inside that the only way to deal with it was to shut yourself off from it.

I had been impressed by him before; the things he was able to do and escape being caught was remarkable, but now she had a whole new level of respect for him.

He had to play criminal mastermind.

He had to play boyfriend.

He had to play Jim from IT and Rich Brook.

He was a snake and a spider and a puppy dog and pure human all wrapped up in one.

It must have driven him mad.

The only thing keeping me from quitting the business entirely was the fact that a promise had been made to Jim, and indirectly through me as well.

This was one of the last things I had of Jim.

Something that would be passed down to my child; something of their father's that they could cherish.

And I would be damned if I was going to let it fall.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: For those of you who are worried, Sherlock is NOT going to try to kill Diana or her baby. He's not malicious or stupid like that. However, he's not above fear tactics and the circumstances of their meeting are crucial to the plot. So...relax.**

**AngelJJK: I'm glad you liked that I included that. I got a rather frantic PM from someone who won't be named freaking out because they thought I was going to turn the story into a Diana/Sebastian romance. So, of course, I had to clear it up.  
**

**Blah blah blah...short chapter...I suck and I'm sick and I've been internet deprived so this chapter is kinda crap. Lots of reviews will make me feel better!**

* * *

Dust.

Dust had gathered on every surface. Even surfaces he had not thought of before, now coated with a thick layer of dust. It was as if no one had been there for years. But it had only been under half a year.

Sebastian shut the door to the spare bedroom next to Diana's room behind him.

It was where the baby was going to sleep. Where the nursery would be built.

It was a boy.

Diana cried again when she found out. Tears of both happiness and sadness. The doctor told her that the baby was very healthy and that her pregnancy was going well. She was over the moon when she heard that. But her mood lessened when she remembered her son wouldn't have a father.

Sebastian and Griffiths reminded her constantly that they would help her with everything, and teach her son what he needed to know.

He desperately wanted to tell her Jim was alive.

He wanted to tell Jim he was having a son.

But Jim would come home if he knew, and everything would be in jeopardy. The shock could cause Diana to miscarry, and he'd never be able to forgive himself if that happened.

.

Sebastian sighed and rubbed his eyes. Little flecks of dust was getting in his eyes. The room desperately needed cleaning and the lack of anything would be problematic. But he had Griffiths helping him, and it was common knowledge that Griffiths had far better taste in anything than Sebastian did. He was currently out buying furniture and decorations for the room.

It was Sebastian's job to clean everything and start painting the walls.

Behind him, he heard the door open and shut quietly.

**/**

I sighed and ran my hands through my hair. I was currently in the bathtub, soaking and relaxing. I hadn't really had time to myself since everything started.

When it came to eating, sleeping and anything else related to the health of the baby, I was constantly watched over and practically put on a schedule.

When it came to organizing crimes and collecting payment, sending people out to collect when things were overdue, I was watched over and constantly had a backseat director.

I wasn't stupid. I knew what I was doing.

I knew Sebastian and Griffiths were just looking out for me. I knew they had good intentions and they just wanted things to go well for me, but it was getting old.

My phone rang on the little table next to my tub, and I answered without looking at the number.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Remus."

"Speaking. Who is this?"

"Brusilov, ma'am."

Alexander Brsuilov, Russian killer raised by a KGB assassin. If Sebastian was the best shot in London, Brusilov was the best shot in Russia. That was saying something, since not only was Russia huge, but hunting was a very popular sport there and most hunters were excellent marksmen.

"Ah, yes, Brusilov. I trust everything is going well."

"No so much, ma'am."

"Go on."

"The people that contacted you about this job; it seems they've hired another person for this."

I clenched my jaw, "what brings you to think this?"

"Every effort we've made to establish contact with the target has been subverted and then taken over by the third party."

"Do you know who the third party is?"

"We have reason to believe they're Italian. Acting of their own accord and for their own reasons. We've been able to gather intelligence that suggests they're planning on using him to gain control of his assets and manipulate them for their own benefit."

"If that's the case then why would you think they were acting under the orders of those who contacted me?"

"They were seen meeting, exchanging information and money."

I gripped my phone tightly.

"I want that third party gone, Brusilov. I want them gone swiftly, and make sure both parties get the message. I'm not to be crossed."

"Yes ma'am."

I sighed, raking my hands through my hair again and standing up to get out of the tub. Was it so hard to ask for a little loyalty among criminals? They were paying me to do a job. Why would they feel the need to hire someone else, and for a completely different reason?

/

Sebastian and Griffiths waited. They had finished their surprise for Diana, but had to wait through a tirade to show it to her. She was angry, more angry than they had seen her before. She took everything that happened in the organization to heart, and reacted violently when something went wrong.

It was the only tangible thing she had left of Jim at the moment, and she was fiercely protective of it.

"Incompetent fools, the lot of them! I swear Sebastian, if that syndicate even tries to contact the organization again, even with the glimmer of hope that I would even think of gracing them with my guidance and aid… they'll find themselves hanging from a warehouse ceiling by their toenails, their limbs mutilated and bloody, eye lids sliced off and flesh removed from their very bodies!"

Sebastian sighed. Another day in the office, he supposed.

"Are you aware of the damage they've caused, Moran? They almost jeopardized my entire operation involving the Swiss ambassador, almost compromised my agents, and with the contact information they had on me they could have revealed my identity to a large number of government agents. All for a fucking greedy tow handed scheme over a fucking bank account. They could have potentially ruined everything."

Sebastian didn't even bother answering; he simply just hummed his nonchalant agreement to please her. The sooner she was done, the sooner he and Griffiths could show her something that would make her calm down, and would probably lift her spirits a little.

By this point Diana was almost fuming, sitting cross legged on the table in the middle of the dining room, surrounded by shards of newly broken glass and fragments of probably very expensive plates with his head in his hands as he focused on regulating his breathing.

God, the hormones made her so dramatic.

Sebastian and Griffiths had hardly moved a muscle from the moment Diana had stormed in and begun her rampage, mercilessly destroying all inanimate objects that had clearly had the nerve to offend her. It wasn't the first time they had had to deal with one of her violent tantrums.

They weren't really something you could help without getting a face full of fist or sharp objects, so usually you had to sit them through; a little patience never harmed anyone.

Diana was bound to calm down soon enough. Sebastian and Griffiths could usually say something to calm her down, or something to distract her and forget about whatever was upsetting her.

However despite Sebastian's previous experiences having to deal with Diana and her fickle but short hormone-induced temper, they had never really lasted this long. Clearly those bastards that had asked for her help had really pissed her off.

"Thank about the baby," Sebastian warned.

Diana immediately shut up, closing her eyes to calm herself down.

"Look, I'm sure everything you told Brusilov can take care of it. Once the opposing agency is removed it'll be a piece of cake to do what needs to be done." Griffiths started calmly. "You can't keep reacting like this; it's not good for you or the baby."

"I know, I know," Diana breathed. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to snap. I just don't know how Jim put up with all of it."

"It's alright," Sebastian told her soothingly, "We've got a surprise for you. It might make you feel better."

Diana looked up at them questioningly, "What kind of surprise?"

"If we told you, it wouldn't be a surprise."

/

I was reluctantly led upstairs, Sebastian behind me covering my eyes as Griffiths led me up each step.

They knew I disliked surprises, but deep down I was enormously curious as to what they had done.

"Okay, open your eyes," Sebastian told me as he lifted his hands off my face.

When I saw what was in front of me, tears welled up in my eyes.

The spare bedroom, which had previously been empty and gathering dust, had been transformed into the most perfect nursery I had ever seen. The walls were a light khaki color, and there was an elegant crib with curving aged bronze bars situated on the far wall. There was a soft aged black leather arm chair and foot rest on the opposite side of the crib, and on the floor in between them was a large tiger skin rug. The changing table and drawer sets were made of varnished light brown wood. Above the crib hung three animal heads: a giraffe, a zebra and a rhinoceros, situated so they formed a pyramid. Underneath them, hung in an empty frame, was a pith helmet.

"Oh my god, you guys." I breathed, wiping away my tears, "This is so amazing. When did you do this?"

"It took us a couple of days," Griffiths said.

"Griffiths got the furniture and I painted." Sebastian finished.

I looked back down at the floor, training my eyes on the tiger skin rug.

"Sebastian, is that the tiger you shot?" I asked.

He grinned, "It is indeed."

More tears. God I was such a wimp. "You're giving him your tiger rug?"

"Well he's my godson," Sebastian laughed. "Who else am I going to give it to?"

I hugged the boys, squeezing them to the best of my ability.

"Thank you guys. This is so wonderful."

/

_You have a son._

Sebastian desperately wanted to type those words.

_You have a son, and he'll be named Damian Rudolf Moriarty._

Sebastian looked down at the text that was causing him so much grief.

**Heard about the thing with the Swiss Ambassador. Is she doing okay? - JM**

There was so much that Sebastian wished he had the guts to tell him. But he was in too far. He was in too deep. And he was terrified of what could happen if he just sprung this on the both of them.

**She's fine. Got a little upset and broke things, but we've fixed it. She's good at this. – SM**

Sebastian prayed he would be able to think of something before Jim came home.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: I'm glad that you guys like the Diana/Sebastian friendship! Super surprise at the end, but don't skip ahead to find out! Also, it's a bit of a short chapter, but it was just a really good place to end at...**

**CrazyCousinEiko: Yes, you do find out the reason for Damian Rudolf's name, but it's part of a later chapter, so I'm not going to spoil it.  
**

**AngelJJK: I explained Jim's reason for leaving a few chapters back, but I'll do a quick recap. Jim left after he faked his death to build up a new organization and transfer it over to Diana, knowing that Mycroft would start to tear down his old organization, both for revenge for his brother's death and to get rid of all the criminals. However, Jim doesn't know that Sherlock's still alive.  
**

**onelifeonedirection: Well...I never said Jim isn't ever going to return...and I also never said when this supposed return is going to be...**

* * *

The smell of the tomato soup and spice filled the house and began to replace the gun oil scent that clung to the fabrics when Sebastian cleaned his rifle. I woke up from my nap to it and followed the scent down to the kitchen.

I liked the food smell far better than the gun oil. It was too strong and over powered the collection of Jim's cologne that I would spray on her wrists when I started to miss him too badly. But this smell, even my son wanted a piece of its origin.

But even as I trotted through the flat in my plush black robe, accented with burgundy stitching, I found Damian was getting restless, moving and wriggling. What on earth was wrong with him?

With the shuffle of loose-slipper feet, I did my best zombie impression as I yawned and took a sloppy seat at the bar counter of the kitchen.

"Too early for soup," I told Sebastian, although I wanted a bowl in front of me.

Sebastian chuckled lightly as he glanced over at me, the steam from the soup wafting over his features creating the illusion that he was transparent.

"It's dinner-time, Di." He told me.

"You were supposed to wake me up at four."

"You were tired. I'm not going to force you to work when you need sleep."

I opened my mouth to say something snappy back, but instead told him, "Thank you."

Sebastian and nodded as he looked back to stir the soup with one hand, his other absent-mindedly reached up into the cupboard next to him to draw out my favorite black and blue stone-wear bowl.

A silence lingered thickly in the air for a few moments before either of us spoke again.

"I thought you didn't know how to cook." I said, "I had to teach you how to season a chicken and pretty much everything."

A smile crossed his face, and he shook his head before he looked up at me, "It's my Mum's recipe. Always made it for me when I was sick. I called her and got the recipe. Which was then followed by a long list of medicines I should take if I'm sick."

I chuckled lightly, "That's moms for you."

Silence fell again. Talk of moms got me thinking. Not of my own, but of me.

"Do you think I'm going to be a good mom?" I asked.

"What? Why would you ask that? Of course you are."

"I'm just terrified of doing something wrong, or screwing up and…I don't know." I sighed. "What if I'm not cut out to be a mom?"

Sebastian placed a bowl of soup in front of me.

"Diana, stop worrying. You're going to be a fantastic mother."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know you. You're caring and you're a fighter. You're probably going to be a hover-mom, too."

I laughed lightly and took a sip of the soup. It had a soft spice to it and it had a warm goodness to it.

"You think I'm going to be overprotective?"

"Maybe, until he shows you that you don't have any reason to be."

I nodded.

"I wish Jim was here," I admitted.

Sebastian nodded, some expression flashing across his face that I couldn't quite place.

"I know." He told me. "I know."

/

In his time, he hadn't thought something would be this difficult. Not after killing Carl, not after watching his own mother put the gun into her mouth and pull the trigger. Skinning someone for the first time? It was so sloppy. Gore was under his fingernails, and he smelled of blood for weeks. He even thought he had stained his hands red, but that was Lady Macbeth talking in his ear, now, wasn't it?

Jim had started writing things. Sebastian would've called it a journal—a log of records. He scoffed. What did that blasted idiot know? He had to allow he knew him better than most others. He had to allow that Sebastian Moran was indeed the only person he trusted. He had to, because he had left the most important thing in his life in Sebastian's care.

Log 1:

Today, I "shot" myself. I killed Richard Brook, I killed Sherlock Holmes. I won. Today, I faked my death. I wonder how she'll take it when I come home.

It wasn't anything of special, but it passed the times he was away from her. He was able to focus his thoughts better that way.

Log 23:

I'm in Prague. Saw an old house I think Diana would like. It had a picket fence and a big garden in the back. She likes gardens. I'll bring her here after I come back.

Log 108:

I've been writing daily in this thing. I don't see the point anymore. Who am I recapping my adventures for? No one's going to read this —and there's no way in hell I can send this to Diana without compromising her safety…but maybe I should. Maybe I can disguise it…?

He contemplated the idea long enough for it to influence how he entered his logs.

Log 198:

Diana, I've been writing you some time now. They've been complied all together. I'm really thinking about coming home. I miss you, and the smell of your skin, and your perfume, and the feel of you against me. It's really cold, too. I don't think I like Russia as much as I would if you were with me.

He looked at the journal of letters. Thick with his handwriting, sometimes shaky, sometimes in Gaelic or Spanish or French just to be cheeky. Sometimes it was him trying to remember why he did all this in the first place, why he left Diana, and other times he was recounting that he was glad Sebastian was tending to things at home—holding down the fort, so to speak.

Log 235:

Sebastian better not have fallen for you or he's going to bleed.

/

"Sebastian, are you even listening to me?"

Sebastian's head snapped up from the paper he'd been using to take notes. Well, he'd started out taking notes. Their meeting had been dragging on and eventually he'd just devolved into doodling. Diana was staring at him with narrowed eyes from across the dining room table.

_Fuck._

_Caught. _

"Of course I am," Sebastian said, sitting back and crossing his arms. He took a stab in the dark. "You were just talking about the forgery client."

"That was fifteen minutes ago."

_Double fuck._

Diana arched an eyebrow. "What are you writing, there?" she asked, pointing to the paper on the table.

Sebastian quickly flipped it over.

"Nothing." He went to pick the paper up and crumple it.

He wasn't quick enough. Diana's hand darted out across the table and snatched it from Sebastian. Her eyes widened as she glanced over the paper and bit her lip, obviously trying her hardest not to burst out laughing.

"I'm sorry, Sebastian. I didn't realize you were a sixteen year-old girl," she managed to say through a snicker.

Sebastian glared at her. "Shut up. I got bored, okay? You were going on and on and on about Siberia and the client list and the setup…"

"The drawings are actually quite good," Diana interrupted, "but I think you're missing something down here." She picked up his pen and wrote near the bottom of the page before sliding it back across the table.

_Mr. Sebastian Johansson_

"Oh shut it!" Sebastian shot back.

"What? Can I help it that you practically planned out your marriage to a woman that doesn't even know you exist?" Diana laughed.

"I got bored," Sebastian protested.

"And I'm sure the wedding dress would look lovely on either of you," she mocked.

Sebastian reached out and ruffled her hair, and she squealed as she fixed the mussed locks. Sebastian laughed, but his smile faded when his phone vibrated in his pocket, knowing immediately who was texting him.

**Everything alright over there? Is she okay? – JM**

_She's close to giving birth. Just a couple more weeks now and you'll have a son._

**Yeah, she's doing great. – SM**

"Sebastian, you're not going to get distracted again, are you?" Diana asked.

"No, no, sorry." Sebastian replied, sending the message quickly and putting his phone back in his pocket.

/

It was a nice dream that I didn't want to wake up from. Jim was back and we were lying in bed together, our son nestled in between us.

He was kissing my forehead and whispering how much he loved the two of us, and how he was so happy to be back with us.

It was a good dream, and I was sad to wake up from it.

But the urge to go to the bathroom that all pregnant women feel was just too much to handle. So, I got up and walked as best as I could with my swollen belly, my swollen feet and the last bits of sleep clinging to me.

But, there was something different. Something wasn't quite right.

I looked down, and I knew immediately.

It was time.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: I swear I wasn't trying to torture you with the long wait. I didn't realize how problematic writing a birth scene would be seeing as how I've never given birth before...**

**HawkeHuntress: So...what if ALL of your demands aren't met...?  
**

**iamnolady: Thank you! Yeah, hangers are annoying, but I'm so damn good at them.  
**

**onelifeonedirection: It's alright to yell at Sebastian; but it's not changing...sorry.**

**Reviews are always welcome and loved!**

* * *

I padded my way to Sebastian's door as best as I could. The bag I had packed for my stay at the hospital had been sitting by the front door for days, just waiting to be collected and taken with me to the hospital. Now wall that was needed was to collected my companions and actually go to the hospital. I rapped on Sebastian's door loudly.

"Sebastian, wake up!"

No answer. This was not the time to be sleeping in.

"Sebastian, get up now!"

Still there was silence.

I changed my tactic and banged on the door.

"Sebastian, get up. I am having a baby and this isn't time to sleep."

"Di, I know you're having a baby! That's why you have a giant belly." I heard him whine through the door.

"Sebastian Moran, I don't think you understand me. This baby is coming. Right now. He is currently trying to wriggle his way into this world, and if Griffiths and I have to go to the hospital without you, you are _not_ going to be happy. Or alive."

Within seconds Sebastian had flung open the door, pulling on clothes as he walked out.

"Good, now it's time to get Griffiths." I said, turning towards the other man's door just down the hall.

However, I was stopped when I saw him putting on a jacket calmly as he closed his bedroom door behind him.

"Good god, woman," he laughed. "If you yell this loudly when you haven't even started to have contractions, then I'd hate to see you when they start."

"Oh hush you. Can we please get to the hospital?"

The contractions started on the way to the hospital. I probably wouldn't have boon so upset about a miscarriage had I known how painful giving birth would be.

That was a lie, but I told it to myself as I was wheelchair-ed into the maternity ward.

"Get me goddamn drugs," I hissed as I was put into the bed.

"Di – " Sebastian started.

"Sebastian, do you like your legs?"

"Yes…"

"And the ability to procreate?"

"Yeah."

"Then get me some fucking drugs."

"Why are you threatening me? Why aren't you threatening Griffiths?"

"Because unlike you, Griffiths isn't denying me a relief of pain."

"Yeah, I'm not that stupid," Griffiths interjected.

"Um, ma'am," a nurse cut in. "You're not dilated enough to be given any kind of pain medication."

"That isn't helpful," Griffiths said, pushing her out of the way to stand on the other side of me.

Finally I was able to get the epidural, and after a little over two hours of labor I had a son. As I held him, crying from so many things, Griffiths gave me a kiss on the forehead and went out to fill in the paperwork for me.

"Make sure he has his father's last name," I reminded him.

Griffiths nodded and smiled, looking down at the bundle in my arms. As he left, I looked to Sebastian.

"He looks like Jim."

"Yeah, but he has your eyes," Sebastian told me.

"I wish Jim was here," I confessed softly.

"Yeah, me too." Sebastian said as he placed a soft kiss on his godson's head.

/

How many times did he have to think the same line over?

_I love you._

It seemed so small to say, just some tiny, insignificant words. But, as ever, it is never the action that is most feared, it is always the reaction.

Yet the words bore more meaning than he could ever admit to himself, let alone to anyone. Jim had always considered himself to be cool and detached, yet now, he wasn't the same. He was the one going soft, not anyone else, and he knew it.

But he couldn't be. He couldn't be feeling these things. Not now. He was Jim Moriarty for god sake; he was able to completely turn his emotions away if he needed to. And it was now that he needed to.

And yet, he felt so powerfully for Diana that it physically hurt him to be away. His heart was beating alright, but it was certainly undergoing strain. Jim's whole body shivered, his hands shaking as he scratched them through his hair.

Being away from her drained him. It was remarkable how the short time spent with her changed him so. And now, without her, he fluctuated constantly between the sappy romantic and the cold-blooded killer. It felt like a foreign world without the promise of his love's presence, and even now, as he sat in a black leather armchair in a completely different country, remnants of Diana were everywhere.

The deep red rug by the front door that she would be utterly fond of.

A painting of a man with a rifle that she'd probably say reminded her of Sebastian.

The armchair, the black leather, the softness. She'd say it was like sitting on some kind of chocolate dessert.

Jim's lower lip quivered slightly and his head dropped to his hands. He sniffed loudly and rubbed his eyes, refusing to cry again.

What good would that do?

He'd already blown everything by leaving.

And the text from Sebastian didn't help at all.

**What would you do if you and Diana had a son? – SM **

/

God knows half of the time the assignments that Jim sent Sebastian to do wore him out. It wasn't just the occasional one, it was the fact that sometimes he would have stake out after stake out planned for the man. Honestly, he had no objections to this due to the fact he could more than handle it.

But never had he been so worn out by something as simple as a baby. Not to mention the work had been piling up as of late, especially as Diana was still recuperating from the birth. But the sniper still continued to work to the best of his abilities. He was still able to kill his shots with a clean accuracy as before, never missing a single target and always managing to get home on time for dinner.

If he didn't know any better, he'd say he was becoming domestic.

After a particularly long few days with little rest Sebastian had finally finished all the assignments he had been ordered to fulfill. With a deep sigh of relief he packed away his rifle and strode home, a cigarette hanging loosely between his lips. It only took him a ten minute stroll to reach the house, hoping he could actually be able to take a few days off of work if there was nothing happening. God knows he needed a rest, and Diana needed as much help as she could get with Damian.

"Hey Di, are you home?" He called out into the flat, dropping his rifle bag carefully to the ground before pulling off his coat.

"She's sleeping," he heard Griffiths say, the other man coming out of the dining room.

He cast a furtive glance up at the second floor where Diana was staying, noting that there was no movement anywhere behind the baby gate at the top of the stairs, before turning back to Sebastian.

"We have a problem," Griffiths told him.

"What kind of problem?"

"The kind of problem that was supposed to go away at the roof of St. Bart's."

"You mean – "

"Sherlock's alive."

"Shit," Sebastian breathed, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, and it gets worse."

"Do I even want to know?"

"All the problems we've been having, the operatives disappearing or just running away, it's all because of him."

"You mean he's destroying the organization, not his brother."

"Exactly."

"That's not good."

"Because of Diana."

"And now Damian."

"We're not telling her."

"Fuck no we're not."

"What about Jim?"

"I haven't even told him about his son; how am I supposed to tell him about this?"

"You haven't told him?"

"Keep your voice down, Griffiths." Sebastian hissed.

"I cannot believe you didn't tell him."

"What was I supposed to do? Let the shock ruin everything? He'd come home and the organization would be in jeopardy; she'd flip out that he was alive and could possibly lose the baby. No fucking way was that all supposed to go on me."

"That wasn't your decision to make."

"Well, it's done."

"You can tell him now."

"With Holmes now threatening everything? No fucking way."

"You're going to get hell for this."

/

Jim sat on the edge of the bed in semi darkness, guilty about leaving. The text from Sebastian not helping, and he grew overwhelmingly lonely, with only a bottle of double malt whiskey and his lighter, though he had no cigarettes. Anger still seemed to be the dominant feeling inside of him, anger at what he had done, anger at himself for letting his pride get the better of him, anger at his lighter for not working properly.

He kicked back on the bed, half naked and swigging small amounts of whiskey every so often, finding comfort in its warmth and attempting to be lulled into the sweet release of sleep.

Instead of sleep, he dozed often, and dreamed vividly. He was at first alone, on an unknown beach somewhere, and the waves were so tall and crashing yet never quite reached him. The sun was crowded with soft, grey clouds, and there was a strong, ocean breeze, glittering with sea spray and the smell of salt. And then he wasn't alone, and Diana was there, holding his hand and smiling at him, and said something that Jim didn't catch, and then he awoke to crushing reality again, drank more whiskey, and hit his head to his pillow to repeat the process.

And the final dream, the fourth, to be exact, was the worst. This time, he was in a dark alley, and people were brushing past him as if he was in the middle of the underground, and then Diana was there, pulling him from the flow of people into a corner, and at first, Jim couldn't see her face, but when he did, he wished desperately he hadn't, for Diana looked so sad. So disappointed. So forlorn. And Jim felt so much, and then he woke, this time, he woke with something very odd.

He had burst into a cold sweat, his hands clammy and his fists clenched, but most worryingly of all, his eyes flooded with tears. And so many emotions rushed through his head that he couldn't make sense of any of it. Instead of attempting to sleep again, the time now being 3 am, he got up, and stared out the window for what seemed like ages, watching the sun rise.

He took out his phone and finally replied to Sebastian, hoping it wasn't too late to get a reply.

**What do you mean? – JM**

It took a while, but finally the response came.

**You said you two would have a normal life when you got back. What if you had a son? – SM**

**Well, I guess he'd get the business when he's old enough. – JM**

**But is that a normal life? – SM**

**What the hell are you trying to get at? – JM**

**Sherlock's still alive. Dismantling everything you've built. – SM **

**Nothing's normal anymore. - SM**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Well hello my dear readers. If you're following my other story, you will know that a while back I was in a pretty nasty car accident and was out of commission for a while. This, coupled with the fact that I'm in my last semester of university and the stress of moving, have made writing fall further and further down my list. Now, I'm back! However, this is both good and bad. Good because I've missed writing, and bad because I'm at a point in the story where I was previously thinking of ending them. I would love to know your opinions. If you have ideas of what you want me to write, for either of my stories or a completely new one, please let me know!**

**As always, please review. Your positive words really helped me during stressful times!**

**P.S. There's a new scene at the end for old readers who felt there were some unresolved plot issues! New readers, disregard this, and enjoy!**

* * *

After Diana had her son, the whole game changed. Jim had played chess with the organization. A game of strategy, and he was the master.

With Diana, it was far more dangerous, because she had more to lose. With her, it was Russian Roulette, only there was one bullet taken out instead of put in. You had one chance of surviving with her, and one wrong move led to your head being blown off.

Sebastian didn't know whether Jim would be proud or concerned.

He had been awake for hours now. He had watched the light turn from black to blue through the tiny gap at the top of the curtains in the nursery. It seemed nowadays that the only place he could think was in the nursery. Damien was a surprisingly quiet baby. He had his moments, like all babies do, but most nights he slept through it without disturbance. The sniper stroked Damien's hair and blinked tiredly, staring ahead into space. The small boy was curled against him, his peaceful sleeping melting away as he began to stir. "I know," murmured Sebastian into the silence. He wondered why he said it aloud. It wasn't like Damien could respond.

Sebastian stiffened, hoping that Damien didn't start fussing. It had been the first night in a while that Diana had conceded to going to bed. More and more she had stayed up, attempting to undo the damage Sherlock had been doing. She had found out on her own, despite Sebastian and Griffith's best attempts to hide it from her. She rarely ate except when it was clear Damien needed to, and she only slept when Damien took his afternoon nap. She was falling too deep into Jim's world. Damien opened his eyes, big ones that looked so much like his mother's. He gave a little gurgling sound and scrunched his face, not in sadness or as if he was about to cry, but a miniature version of confusion appeared on his face.

Sebastian chuckled. He looked so remarkably like his parents. But, Sebastian wasn't a fool. He didn't expect Damien to understand what was going on. Sebastian had really messed things up.

"I'm angry," he confessed steadily, giving away nothing in his voice that would alarm the boy and cause him to start whining and crying.

Sebastian sighed, adjusting the infant in his arms. He never knew how to handle his own emotions, always having shoved them inward or expressing them with a kill shot. But with Damien in his arms, Sebastian was victim to his feelings.

"I don't know what to do, Damien. I didn't do it to hurt you or your mom. I just wanted you two safe. Aside from Jim, you're the closest thing I have to family." He eventually said, speaking the only words he could think of that were true and might somehow help, although he doubted they would.

Damien gave a large yawn and curled his hand around Sebastian's index finger. "Yeah," scoffed Sebastian softly. "If I say it enough I might just convince myself that I did the right thing."

Damien gave a small whine and scrunched his face again. "Yea, little guy, you need your sleep. Come on."

Sebastian gently lifted the small bundle and placed him gently in his crib. He smiled softly as Damien yawned again and gave a tiny gurgle before falling back asleep. Sebastian smiled softly as he traced a finger over Damien's forehead.

He doubted more and more whether or not he had done the right thing.

/

From behind the door, having heard everything that Sebastian had confessed, Griffiths pursed his lips. He had seen this coming since day one, and he had stood by and watched it all crumble away in front of him.

He knew he should have done something, but he was too focused on Diana and her pregnancy that he had allowed himself to believe Sebastian knew what he was doing.

It had been five and a half months since Damien was born and things hadn't gotten better. Diana was still spiraling and the organization was constantly being threatened by Sherlock to be dismantled.

Griffiths sighed as he closed the door to his room behind him. He had put off this call long enough.

/

After he hung up the phone with Griffiths, Jim found himself with an empty liquor bottle and extreme drowsiness that dropped him off to sleep. He had huddled into the corner he bed was pressed against and listened to the sound of the heavy rain. He had no idea of the time. There were no stars of course; this was London. And he had no company. But sometimes, he preferred it that way.

At around 9 am, he woke up to the sound of the city coming alive again. Placing the bottle behind him, he wrapped his arms round his shoulders, hugging himself tightly. How long could he stay there? He didn't even know. He didn't care.

How long would it take before Griffiths would realize where he'd been hiding out? He was so utterly shell shocked at the news Griffiths had dropped on him that he didn't really think much about anything. Jim felt his stomach growl at him. He felt hollow; a slow pain emerging in him from the hangover, a head ache and eye strain. He dropped his head to the wall behind him and dropped off to sleep again.

When next he woke, there was some light. It was half past 4 PM, but of course, he didn't know that until he wobbled to the window and saw a shop display flash the time on an LCD screen in the window. His whole body shook, and he couldn't feel his feet very much. He wished he had his own carpet under his toes. He wished none of this had happened. He wished Diana was there.

Diana.

Where was she?

What was she doing?

It seemed to really hit Jim that he had known virtually nothing about her condition until now. He widened his eyes, frantically thinking up wild theories. Was she okay? Was he alive? Was the birth okay? Did she have surgery?

And he started thinking about what life would be like if she wasn't okay. If she and their son were dead.

It was so awful, and so painful.

And yet, he had to push himself through it all.

He couldn't bear the thought of being the same kind of father that he had.

He just couldn't.

/

Frustrated Sebastian scowled, "What the hell were you thinking?"

Griffiths stared back at Sebastian with equal venom.

"It's about damn time that Jim knew. It's pointless to argue now, he already knows."

Sebastian's eyes narrowed.

"Look," Griffiths warned, "I can understand anger; you were trying to protect them. But, he's your friend, so don't be so bloody selfish with them." He spat, "We've all done things that we shouldn't have done, but I don't understand why on earth you're being so stubborn about all of this."

Sebastian refused to look at Griffiths, trying to rid himself of the anger boiling in his stomach. "I was not being selfish and I am not being stubborn. I had a pregnant Diana to worry about, I have Damien to protect and I have to make sure none of this fall apart. If fucking Sherlock Holmes gets his way we'll all be in a jail cell or killed and who knows where Damien would end up." Sebastian hissed, his expression anguished.

"Are you really so vain that you think you've held this entire thing together single handedly? You may be the best shot in London, but you're damn not the one holding this together. Diana should get a fucking medal for dealing with all of this while we've been keeping something enormous from her! And you know what? I've had fucking enough of it!"

Sebastian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He may be acting like a child, and he knew that doing so would only serve to anger the other man further. He wasn't afraid of Griffiths as he was of Jim, even if he did have a gun holstered to his side. But Griffiths had put Sebastian just where he wanted him, as smart as Griffiths was his heart had always been bigger than Sebastian's, and during this ordeal his brain had grown as well. Dangerous that, Sebastian mused to himself, for a man that was speaking sense and that could match him in a fight was not someone he wanted to take on at the moment.

Sebastian stole a glance at Griffiths before continuing, "My decisions weren't pointless, and you know that I only had Diana and Damien's best interest in mind." Sebastian tried reasoning with the other man, not really sure how else to go about this.

Griffiths made a noise that sounded similar to a growl and exhaled sharply. "I know you think that, but look at it from outside eyes. You've kept both Diana and Jim in the dark for far too long under a thinly veiled excuse of trying to keep them safe. Face it, you put off telling either of them for too long and now you're scared of the repercussions."

"Oh that's just - "

"Don't interrupt me, Sebastian. Now is not a good time to do that at all." Griffiths said lowly. "What's done is done. Jim knows and in two days he'll be coming home. Both of us are going to be in too much trouble to comprehend when he does, from both Diana and Jim alike, so I suggest we tell Diana."

Sebastian clenched his jaw.

Why couldn't Griffiths just do as he was told for once in his life? Sebastian thought he had been pretty damn reasonable with all of his decisions, and he didn't want to have to destroy the calm exterior he had worked so hard to create and maintain.

"Just fucking do it, yeah?" he snapped.

Griffiths nodded curtly, and Sebastian simultaneously hated and respected his comrade for taking the initiative in telling Diana. Sebastian made to walk past Griffiths, but the other man grabbed hold of Sebastian's arm and squeezed, maybe a bit too hard.

Sebastian flinched, the sudden painful contact catching him off guard, and turned his gaze towards the burning eyes of the other man. He hadn't been expecting that. He'd been expecting to just walk off. He'd been expecting to be left alone until Diana was told. He'd even been expecting the other man just tell him calmly that he was disappointed before leaving, but he had not been expecting this. His arm screamed in protest at the harsh grip but Sebastian didn't say anything.

"But you will be the one to apologize to them," demanded Griffiths, digging his nails into Sebastian's flesh hard.

Hard enough to leave marks. There might have even been blood. Griffiths' eyes, usually so calm and steely, were on fire. Sebastian felt ashamed somewhere deep inside, but he couldn't make out if it was because of what he had been doing to Jim and Diana, or if it was because he knew he had let them down.

"You will give them a fucking apology for the shit you put them through," he repeated lowly when Sebastian didn't respond fast enough.

Sebastian clenched his jaw as a fresh wave of sharper pain shot through him, the other man's nails slicing through the sensitive nerve endings laced through the skin of his bare flesh. He didn't want to have to apologize. He hated having to say those words, and he had only done so a few times. However, those times were when the other party truly deserved an apology, and this was one of those situations.

"Fine, I will apologize to them both."

"Good," was the only response Griffiths gave as he walked off.

Sebastian steadied himself, rubbing the tender skin of his arm as he headed towards Diana's room. She was usually there this time of day, sitting in a large chair and writing logs of what they had done since her last entry.

However, he was halted before he reached her room by the sound of the front door opening, and he turned to see Diana walking through. Sebastian watched from the hall just above the staircase as she ascended the stairs. He had forgotten she had a meeting with her company that day. Sometimes he forgot that she still had another life outside of the organization. Once she had lost the baby weight she jumped right back into the world of consumerism.

Griffiths had been right. Diana deserved so many awards for not only keeping the organization running, but raising her son and running a completely different business.

Sebastian frowned as she walked past him silently. Not for the fact that she didn't acknowledge him, but because he saw the weary expression on her face.

He watched as she entered her room and removed her heels before assuming her position in her chair. She had her phone in her hands and had not yet noticed him leaning against the doorframe.

She got like this sometimes. Distant.

Sebastian watched her from across the room, watched as her hands moved on her phone while the rest of her body stayed completely still. Diana was still in her dress suit from the meeting. Usually the first thing she did when she came home was to change out of her nice clothes - the fewer wrinkles the better. But today she was gone. She didn't care.

"Hey Di," Sebastian said carefully, "you hungry?"

Sebastian hadn't eaten all day - he doubted Diana had either. She, however, said nothing. Sebastian sighed and turned to the kitchen. He paused a moment before walking into Diana's room and behind her chair, his hand coming to rest on the top of her head, just barely.

Still no response.

Diana had days like this. Sebastian was never sure what triggered these moods - disappointment, or maybe the sadness she couldn't talk about. Perhaps it was just an inhuman focus that consumed her; a part of Jim that she was clinging on to. But Jim was gone, and Diana was there to take his place - colder and harder than she was. Not the woman Sebastian befriended.

There was a void inside of her. Any human piece of her was gone when she got in these moods, leaving blackness behind her green eyes. The only thing that could turn her human again was the crying of her son. But Damian was down for his nap and always slept through it. She wouldn't be back to normal until he needed his mommy.

Sebastian made himself a sandwich and grabbed his book off the couch as he made his way back to Diana's room. Diana's moods could last hours on end. But if Sebastian was lucky, he'd read for an hour or two until it was time to wake Damian up and bring him to his mommy. That would calm her down and come back to reality.

And it would be even longer until Sebastian could work up the nerve to tell her the truth about what had been happening.

But when Sebastian got back into the room, Diana was waiting for him. Seated upright and staring towards the door, her eyes were steely and cold.

"Sebastian, sit down." She commanded gently, nodding her head towards the armchair across from her.

Sebastian swallowed hard. He wasn't sure where the conversation would go. It may not have even been about Jim. How could it be? She didn't know yet.

No, his nerves were getting the better of him. And it was all Griffiths' damn fault.

Sebastian perched himself on the chair across from her, the sandwich and book on his lap, as he gazed at her.

"Did you want to talk about something?"

"Yes, I did, actually. I got a rather interesting text message today."

"Oh?" Sebastian asked, managing a calm exterior as his inner self was screaming to run away.

"Yes, it seems that as one of my PR employees was leaving our meeting he saw a man that looked remarkably similar to Jim Moriarty get into a black car."

"I – what?"

"That's what I said too. After all, he's been dead for about half a year. But Scott was so insistent. He knew about my connection to the Moriarty case because I was friends with Sherlock and was on the news. Scott wanted to make sure he wasn't seeing things, so he snapped a picture and sent it to me for confirmation."

She pulled the sleek phone from her side and pulled up the picture she had received. Sebastian's words were caught in his throat as the screen was before his eyes. It was a little blurry, but it was undeniably Jim. Sebastian lifted his eyes to Diana, attempting to keep the guilt from creeping across his face.

"I think it's quite clear that you have quite a lot to explain, so begin when you're ready."

Sebastian steadied his breathing as he looked at her, noting the venom behind her eyes. Diana had become a very intimidating woman. This wasn't a matter of asking dear Jim to fix something, this wasn't what Sebastian had come to expect from his new boss at all. This was staring a cobra in the face and waiting for it to strike. And one thing he knew about venomous snakes is no sudden movements, because one wrong move and they'll go for the neck.

/

There were too many loose ends hanging around for me to be comfortable with. With Sherlock and Jim both back, I knew I had to do something, or else it would be the great game all over again.

It was because of this that I found myself face to face with John Watson one afternoon.

"You want me to do what?" John asked.

"Keep Sherlock away from me." I repeated.

"Because Moriarty's back and you want us to let you go around committing crimes in peace?"

"Because I have a son."

That stopped him. "You – a son?"

"He's months old. And yes, he's Jim's. Look, I'm just as pissed as you are that Jim faked his death – maybe even more so – and I'm not even sure I'm going to let him come back into my life when he _does_ come back. But I'm sure as hell not going to let Sherlock jeopardize the life of my son for what Jim did."

"And you."

"That's beside the point."

"It isn't, Diana!" John was angry, and he had every right to be. "You were helping him! You said we were friends, and then you turn around and help out the man who tried to kill us!"

"Look, John, I'm not asking you to understand why I did what I did. I'd be an idiot if I tried. All I'm asking is that you keep Sherlock away. I don't care what you have to do or say; I want my son protected and _not_ be made an orphan."

John sighed, frustrated. "I don't – I mean, I – " he sighed again, this time in defeat. "All right."

"Thank you," I turned to leave, stopping before my back had turned to him. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for everything that happened. We may not be friends anymore, but I appreciate that you're doing this for me."

"Not you, your son." John corrected. "Just don't turn him into a criminal."

I grinned slightly, "No promises."


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: So, for some reason this chapter got deleted and I had to re-upload it. Sorry for those who thought there was a new chapter!**

* * *

James Moriarty had never had a normal life, an exceptionally bright student who was bullied by the 'ordinary' children, as he used to call them. He never understood why he was here, even when he was very small. Never knew his parents, they had abandoned him shortly after he was born, given a name by a Father who had taken him in on that dark stormy night. He didn't speak until he was five and even then he only muttered and stammered when it was absolutely necessary. His teachers knew of his genius, his knowledge was far beyond his years. But there was something cold about the little, lithe boy with jet black hair and eyes to match.

No one knew about the bubbling hatred underneath the cool, calm exterior. Jim was a loner, right from the very beginning. The only true friend he had was a man whose loyalty Jim originally bought. Aside from the biting sarcasm, Sebastian Moran was prone to silence. It was a useful trait, useful for Jim's business. There was nothing quite like a wild looking man silently standing by the door, or at the table, or cleaning his gun. He was polite, and punctual, and liked to work with his hands, so Jim was always free to do what he does best: make threats. But he wasn't made for a decision-making role, and he often made the wrong ones.

Jim knew as soon as Griffiths called him that he shouldn't have left Sebastian with as much responsibilities as he did. When he pulled himself out of his shocked stupor, he arranged a ride home – how strange it was to be using that word again – and made himself presentable to see his girlfriend and his son.

_His son._

The car ride proved to be the longest yet. Jim stared fixedly out the passenger window, watching the last vestiges of sunlight fade into twilight.

Recently, there were nights where Jim Moriarty hardly slept. He didn't need that much sleep anyway, so instead of resting his brain, he would train it: solving complicated mathematical problems, just to keep it in good condition. He would sit in his chair by the fireplace, his legs pulled up onto the seat, a notebook propped against his knees, writing down whatever his mind had just processed. Sometimes he would journal, but only until it because too hard to think about her.

But stuck inside the cab, with his notebook tucked away in his suitcase, Jim was left with nothing to do but twiddling his thumbs. The boredom and anxiety were nearly crippling, and he was glad he was sitting down.

He braced himself as the cab slowed to a halt, the driver getting out of the cab and helping Jim with what little luggage he had. Jim cursed silently to himself as his hands shook as he carried his bags up to the front door.

Fumbling clumsily with his key to find the keyhole in the fading light, Jim cursed under his breath and pushed his way into the house, silently closing the door behind him in hope that it wouldn't attract Diana's attention. An ambush of questions was the last thing he needed right now; first he need to know exactly how much she knew. In any case, she wouldn't be the slightest bit pleased with him.

He put his bags next to the coat hanger that stood near the door and walked as silently as he could down the hall and into the living room, allowing himself to collapse onto the couch with a relieved sigh. Diana, according to Griffiths, would be upstairs with Damian at that time, and Sebastian would be in soon to brief him on what Diana knew. All he had to do was wait and try to relax.

"And what bloody time do you call this?" The woman's voice sounded, interrupting Jim's short moment of peace and quiet.

Jim jumped as he looked around the dark room. There, sitting in a chair next to the crackling fire, was Diana. How on earth could Jim have missed that? He was ridiculously off his game.

"Wha – Di, I – " Jim stuttered

"Not expecting someone else, were you?" She asked, not tearing her gaze away from a spot on the wall.

Jim was silent. He didn't know how to respond. He was more nervous than he would have liked to admit. The hardness to her voice was a clear indication of how much Jim's absence and her ascent to leader of Jim's organization had changed her. She didn't hold herself the way Jim remembered, and she didn't speak the way Jim remembered.

He wondered how much of the Diana he remembered was left.

"I should shoot you for what you put me through," she continued.

"But our son – "

"_Our_ son?" Diana reared up, finally looking towards Jim. "You have no right to call him _our_ son. He's _my_ son. He was brought into this world without a father present and nothing would change if I shot you right here. According to the world, you're dead."

"I did it to keep you safe," Jim raised his voice, getting off the couch and standing toe to toe with Diana.

"Keep your voice down; Damian is sleeping," Diana hissed.

"You have no idea what could have happened to you after Sherlock jumped if they thought I was still alive."

"Well Sherlock's still alive, so there goes your excuse."

"I know; Sebastian told me."

"Of course he did. And while you two have been keeping secrets from me, while you have been holed up god knows where avoiding the world, I've been raising my son, keeping my own business running and making sure yours didn't crumble into ashes after you 'died'." She viciously air quoted her last word, making sure Jim understood how angry she was.

"Diana, I know this was hard on you."

"No you don't. You couldn't possibly know, because if you did you would have never done it in the first place!" Diana raised her voice, lowering it quickly so she didn't wake her son. "I didn't come out of my room for months, I barely ate or slept, and it was only until I found out that I was pregnant that I finally started acting like a semi-functioning human. So don't you _dare_ say you know how it felt."

"You don't think it was fucking torture being away from you? You don't think I wished every day that I could stop it all and come back to you? Every day I would think about you, wondering how you were and if you were alright. Do you really think after everything I've done for you and everything we've been through that your safety and well-being isn't the most important thing to me? If I had known you were pregnant, I would have come home immediately. I would have never left your side and fuck the organization if it meant I could be a family with you."

Diana was silent. Jim figured she probably didn't know what to say. She had spent so long thinking he was dead, and then angry when she found out he wasn't. She probably had been hating him since she found out that he was still alive. When he made his confession that he loved her, she was probably became torn between hating him and wanting to forgive him.

He took this opportunity to ask for what he'd wanted ever since he found out.

"Please, Diana, can I see my son?"

"I don't – I don't know…" her voice trailed off.

"Please. You can kick me out or whatever you want afterwards. I just want to see my son."

He could almost see the gears grinding in her head as she debated whether or not she'd allow him upstairs. But, eventually, she relented; nodding lightly as she turned and walked out of the living room. He followed her upstairs and down the hall, and waited as she pushed open the slightly ajar door that led to the nursery.

He walked in and saw, thanks to the soft glow of the streetlights that the blinds and sheer curtains failed to keep out, that the walls were a light khaki color. On the far wall an elegant crib with curving aged bronze bars stood, and nestled in blankets he saw his son. There was a soft aged black leather arm chair and foot rest on the opposite side of the crib, and on the floor in between them was a large tiger skin rug. The changing table and drawer sets were made of varnished light brown wood. Above the crib hung three animal heads: a giraffe, a zebra and a rhinoceros, situated so they formed a pyramid. Underneath them, hung in an empty frame, was a pith helmet.

"Sebastian gave him his tiger skin?" Jim asked as he walked over to the crib.

"Well, he is Damian's godfather." Diana replied, her voice still slightly wary.

Jim leaned over the side of the crib, looking for the first time at the sleeping face of his son.

"He looks like me," Jim breathed.

Gently he grazed a finger over his son's cheek, causing the small boy to lightly whimper and squirm under his blanket.

"Oh, he's gonna wake up," Diana said worriedly, walking quickly up to the crib to comfort her son.

"No," Jim held up a hand to stop her, "Let me."

Damian opened his eyes, whining at being woken up. Jim gently lifted him out of the crib and, Diana would freely admit it, the motherly worry took over.

/

_Did he even know how to hold a baby? _I wondered to myself. W_hat if he accidently dropped him?_

But Jim looked almost perfect with Damian in his arms. I only had to make small adjustments to his arm positioning before he was standing comfortably with our son in his arms.

I didn't really want to admit it, still being angry with Jim, that he looked right holding Damian.

"Damian Rudolf Moriarty," Jim said quietly.

Damian had quieted down, emitting a few gurgles before falling back asleep in Jim's arms. He was snuggled into the crook of his arm, something he had only done with me. Did he have some special baby sense that told him he was being held by his father?

"Why'd you choose Rudolf?" Jim asked me.

"Well, he had to have some part of me."

Jim looked at me, confused.

"Rudolf means _famous wolf_ in an old Germanic language. Since my last name is Remus, which is kind of wolfy, I wanted him to have that too."

"I like it," Jim told me, looking back to our son. Damian gurgled again as he shifted in Jim's arms. Jim smiled softly at his son before looking back at me.

"So, can we be a family?" He asked, not bothering to hide the hope in his voice.

I nodded, tears misting my vision. "Yeah, we can be a family."

Jim smiled and leaned over to kiss me.

I had him back for real, and it was perfect.


	27. E-book Plans

**A/N**

**Hello all! It's been quite some time since I've posted here, but as the chapter title suggests, I'm planning on turning this into an e-book. It'll be in .mobi and .epub formats so it can be read on different types of e-readers. There will be new scenes added, as well as the grammar and formatting issues in this version fixed!**

**This is where you guys come in!**

**First off, is this a thing you want?**

**Secondly, can you make a cover for this story or know someone who could?**

**Please let me know what you guys think. After all, I'm doing this for you!**


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